Harry Potter and the Taken Twin
by sarasponda
Summary: It's been two years since the war and Hermione has just found Draco trapped in a Muggle hospital. If that wasn't strange enough, mysterious bodies are popping up around London for no reason. Multiple character POV. Hermione/Draco, Harry/Theo. Slow burn. Explicit themes.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNINGS: This isn't fluff. If you choose to read on be prepared for dark and adult themes including physical and sexual abuse, suicide and death. There will also be scenes with sexual content. Please don't continue if any of these themes offend you. I will not be posting any more warnings as I do not want to spoil the story. Thank you!**

The training had been easy. To be fair, Defense had always come easy for him but Auror training had been especially so. Maybe it was because he shared the classes with only Ron, or maybe since the war things never would be as difficult. He supposed it had mostly to do with his passion for the subject but whatever the case, the two year long training period had been a delightful experience.

Therefore when his position at the Ministry was changed from mere trainee to apprentice and his assigned mentor was none other than Gawain Robards, head of the department, Harry was ecstatic. He woke up early on his first day of apprenticeship, dressed sharply and even attempted to smooth his hair down for once. Upon arriving at the Auror department in his freshly polished shoes and new robes, Harry may have expected some sort of welcome from his teacher but was instantly miffed when the man didn't even acknowledge his appearance.

"Good morning, sir!" Harry piped as he entered the older man's office. Robards was a stout grey haired individual with large white eyebrows and dark eyes. His robes were faded and old but clean and he sat at his mahogany desk reading the _Daily Prophet._ The room was stuffed with dusty books and papers and whirring sounds came from behind the man where a few magical detecting devices spun in place. Robards' eyes flicked once to examine Harry's form before glancing back down and continuing to stare at the _Daily Prophet_ in his hand. After a few silent seconds Harry cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry to bother you but…"

Robards merely grunted and gestured to a dusty wooden chair in the corner of the office. "You're early." he stated blandly.

"Um...I…."

"You're expected at half eight and it is currently twenty three after the hour." Robards didn't move, only his eyes seemed to fathom Harry's presence as he stared at him from above the paper.

"I thought that….."

"Over-eagerness may have been a quality you cultivated at school but in the real world it's considered rude. If you insist on being early tomorrow, stay outside of my office until you're due. I prefer to read without interruptions. Now sit."

Harry's mood crumpled like a chocolate frog that had been stomped on. He removed his shoulder bag and slumped into the chair the Auror had offered. Exactly seven minutes later, Gawain Robards folded his paper and sniffed before addressing Harry again.

"Alright, Potter, get up." Robards motioned for Harry to stand. "It was not my choice to have you as my pupil. As head of the department I don't have pupils. Or at least, I shouldn't, but unfortunately that option is not in my control anymore. As you may know, you and Mr. Weasley are our youngest apprentices since the fifties. Not by much, I'll have you know, Tonks was only a year older than you when she started. That being the case, it has been decided that you shall be best mentored by me directly instead of one of my subordinates, what with you being the Chosen One and all. That doesn't mean I'm going to be treating you with any favoritism due to your age or your past. While you are here do try to stay out of my way as I have a very important department to run. Now for your first task," he ruffled under his desk and removed a large steel box with no lid, "go prepare your cubicle. Clean it up, as the Ministry elves are not allowed in our offices." He shoved the box into Harry's arms. "You can put things that need to be discarded in here."

"Sir…?" Harry began.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter, thank you." And with a wave of his wand, Robards opened his office door without standing up and glared at Harry until he left.

The rest of the department was filled with brightly lit cubicles and flying paper airplanes delivering notes. There was a pleasant hum of chatter which brought Harry's spirits up just a bit. As annoyed and disheartened as he was from his first meeting, Harry told himself that Robards was just bothered with having an apprentice and not necessarily at Harry personally. However, the man still came off as an entitled arse. He hadn't even mentioned where this cubicle he was supposed to clean was inside the forest of little wooden offices that scattered across the department.

So, in order not to get in anyone else's way, Harry walked up and down the rows of the Auror headquarters until he found a small cubicle with a metal name tag plastered beside the doorway stating in clear gothic font:

H. J. Potter

If that simple headline filled him with pride and happiness _his own office!_ then entering the little space proved to do the exact opposite. There was an oak desk, a few dead plants, and endless amounts of trinkets and doodads that varied from moving tiny owl figurines to a few large Sneakoscopes. It wasn't that the office held any negativity but the sheer neglect it had been left in gave Harry pause. Everything was covered in at least a centimeter of dust and he sneezed after performing a quick cleaning charm to remove it. He lit the large purple lamp on the desk and started to remove the strange items and scraps of paper from the surface. Clearly the cubicle had belonged to someone before him and whoever it was they hadn't been here for a while.

It didn't take much digging for him to discover the previous owner of the cluttered room. There was a smiling photograph of a familiar middle aged wizarding couple holding a young girl. They waved up at him from the frame and Harry noted that the small girl's hair color changed from neon green to red as he was surveying the photo. He grabbed the picture frame and fell into the leather chair behind the desk as he further examined the small faces grinning up at him. Nymphadora Tonks must have been only four or five in the photograph but her distinctive hair colors and broad smile were easy to distinguish. Trying not to cry, Harry used one hand to open the desk drawer while still holding onto the photo. As he began pulling belongings out he realized they became harder and harder to identify as tears started making his eyes go blurry.

A bright peacock feather quill, a pair of plastic muggle scissors that resembled the head and mouth of a fish, a few candy wrappers, a very ugly yellow headband, and finally a small bunch of parchment that looked to be owl letters. Harry unfolded the paper sadly and wiped his face when he recognized the tidy handwriting that lined the note.

 _Dearest Nymphadora,_

 _Your kind words are appreciated. Sirius was a dear friend of mine and his loss has been very distressing. The hardest part of this is knowing how much misery he went through in his short life and how much he was looking forward to the end of this war and his chance at happiness and freedom. I only wish that you had the experience of knowing your cousin when he was young. The two of you would have gotten into all sorts of mischief had you attended school together, I'm sure. An Animagus_ AND _a Metamorphmagus! I can't even imagine what sort of trickery would have befallen our fair alma mater._

 _In response to your question, yes, your family is more than welcome to stop by for a visit. Company is always appreciated during these troubling times and though I am an abhorrent cook I'm sure I could manage to put something together._

 _Remus_

Harry placed the first note on the desk only to see three more like it. The second one gave him a small smirk.

 _Nymphadora,_

 _No, I will not be addressing you by your last name although I feel that I should since I don't want to give the wrong impression. Visiting me with your mother is one thing but stopping by on your own, unannounced, in the middle of the night is quite another! As I have stated before, I am completely fine and capable of taking care of myself even on the day after a full moon. I apologize for yelling at you but your actions, however kind they may be, are unwanted. Please refrain from visiting me again,_

 _Remus_

 _Dora,_

 _I'm sorry for not writing you sooner. I know I have been very distant with you and refusing to speak with you at Order meetings is a bit rude and childish. You have been nothing but kind to me and I'm afraid I'm not used to people paying such interest. If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to court me! Ridiculous, I know, but you can't fault an old man in thinking so after you just Apparate into my bedroom at one in the morning. Now I know it was merely because you were worried about me but after it had happened I was afraid that you might be harboring feelings for me. Thankfully that isn't the case and I'm horribly embarrassed that I acted so adolescently._

 _You were right to think the first full moon after Sirius' death was a very difficult time and I'm grateful that you cared enough to check in on me. Please give your parents my love,_

 _Remus_

 _Dora,_

 _I suppose all I can say is that I'm utterly shocked. Delighted, of course, but also shocked. I also want to make sure you are absolutely certain that you know what you want. I can only imagine as a young girl nearly thirteen years my junior that you are the victim of a mere school girl crush. You're sweet, intelligent and charming and I'm thrilled by your interest but I don't believe you really know what a relationship with me might entail. To be honest, I don't really know myself as I have never ventured into these waters before. Dating is something completely foreign to me. However, your unyielding attention over the past few months has been a small joy I never thought to have. That being said, I don't want you to fall in love with a werewolf. You deserve much better and as flattered as I am, I could never bring you to tie yourself down to someone so potentially dangerous as well as someone who would not have the coin to purchase you a nice meal._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Remus._

 _Dora,_

 _Fine, you win. Dinner would be lovely. I'll be over in an hour._

 _Remus._

It was too much. Too much for him to read, too much to remember, too much loss, too many fucking funerals and memorial services and too many loved ones whose lives had ended too soon.

Without thinking it through, Harry shoved the stack of parchment back into the desk drawer and rammed the thing closed. His eyes were completely brimming over with tears by now and he didn't even remember to turn off the lamp before rushing out of the cubicle and out of the Auror department completely. In fact, he didn't realize where he was until he was hammering on a large wooden door of an office on the other side of the building. After a moment, a young blue eyed man pushed the door ajar but didn't let him in.

"May I help you?" He stated in a snooty proper voice.

"Who the hell are you? Where's Hermione?" Harry was able to stammer out. His voice cracked a bit fully disclosing his tears, but if the man noticed his expression stayed blank.

"Miss Granger is currently occupied in an important matter. Please come back later." The man made to close the door but Harry shoved his arm in the way and tried to push his way past.

"Occupied with what?! Get out of my way!"

"She's in the middle of a phone call, now if you would…."

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are but...wait… a _phone call?_ "

"Indeed." The man continued, completely unphased with Harry cursing at or pushing him. "If you don't mind, Mr. Potter, I have to ask you to leave. I will let her know you were here as soon as she's available."

Normally Harry would have backed down long before it had gotten to this point but he'd already had a pretty shite morning. That the blue eyed man was one of many strangers to know Harry by name and not bother to introduce themselves was just the last feather on the Hippogriff.

"LET ME IN!" He snapped, cramming his entire weight into the door. Finally the wanker seemed to get the hint and moved aside only causing Harry to stumble into a small waiting area about half the size of Tonks' cubicle. There was barely room for a desk and chair. Harry noted that of all things there was a flipping _computer_ on the desk and a fairly modern looking one at that. He gawked at it for a moment before realizing that the other man was still standing beside him with a look on his face that would kill kittens.

"I'm beginning to get annoyed, Potter, and I don't….."

"Why do you have a computer? Is this some kind of joke?" Harry allowed his tone to calm a bit since he was genuinely curious. The other man stepped closer to him and it was only then that Harry realized that the blue eyed man looked familiar. He was also a good half a head taller than Harry.

"Being that this _is_ the Muggle Liaison Office, we tend to have some Muggle technology about."

Harry grumbled at the rather vague explanation. "Pffft, Muggle technology, fuck me."

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter? You happen to dislike Muggles?" The taller man raised his voice to half a yell and took another step forward. Harry lifted his arms to shove the man out of his face but stopped when he realized he was still holding the Tonks family photo. He stared at it briefly then removed his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve as they had suddenly started to water again.

"Sorry." Harry grumbled, "I…. I've had a bad morning."

There was no response. Harry was looking at the ground and trying not to sob so he was surprised when he heard the man walk around him and open another door on the other side of the office.

"Miss Granger, do you have a minute? Potter's here to see you and he seems pretty upset."

There was a mumbled apology and the sound of a phone being hung up before Harry heard the familiar footsteps and voice of his bushy haired friend.

"Harry? Merlin, are you alright!? What happened?" She clasped his shoulders tightly and peered up into his eyes. He should have known that looking at her would make it worse but it was too late. The tears were flowing down his face like a window in a rainstorm and he was having difficulty trying to speak; like he couldn't figure out when to breath and when to talk.

"I…..I…..just…." He lifted one of her arms away from him in order to put the picture in her hand. She looked at it for a long moment before speaking very softly.

"Harry, where did you get this?"

"They...I… they…made me clean…..out her…things." He stammered.

Perhaps if it had been Ginny or any other girl or hell, even Ron, they probably would have just hugged him and allowed him to cry out his misery while patting his back and mumbling soft comforts. Well, Ron might not have done any mumbling but he would have taken the softer approach or so Harry believed. Hermione, on the other hand, had a touch of a temper.

"THEY DID WHAT?!" She screeched. It shocked him out of his tears. He put his glasses back on and saw that she was quivering. The picture frame clamped in her fingers like cat claws around a mouse.

"It wasn't…I don't think he meant to offend me."

"WHO?!"

"Hermione, it's not important. I was just not expecting to have to…."

"WHO MADE YOU DO IT?!"

"Ummm, I really don't think I should tell you. No offense, but you can get a bit…."

"HARRY POTTER, YOU BETTER TELL ME WHO MADE YOU CRY!" She had backed him up into the next room which Harry had to assume was her office. It was huge. Nearly three times the size of Robards' with not only a desk but a couch and two large sitting chairs. He turned to get a better look at the oversized desk and hopped over to examine a bronze name plaque.

 _HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER: Department Lead; Muggle Liaisons_

"Hang on, did you get promoted?" He stammered.

"Don't change the subject!" She blurted, her edge dulling a tad.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you're the head of the department! Why didn't you tell me?"

Now it was her turn to stammer.

"I….um...well…." Suddenly deflated of her anger, Harry saw the pride begin to spark in her eyes. "It really isn't _that_ big of a deal."

"Are you insane? This is brilliant! Look at your office. You have a couch and a window and a….." his eyes stalled on the blue eyed man who was still standing in the doorway calmly watching the two of them, "a secretary."

"Assistant." The man corrected him, eyes narrowing. Hermione spun to snap at the fellow.

"Theodore! How long have you been standing there?! Get...get back to work!"

Theodore snorted before removing himself to the closet sized room in front and closing the door. Hermione gave a large sigh and collapsed on the black leather couch.

"I'm sorry, Harry, Theodore's usually very polite. Too polite. I don't know what made him think he could suddenly start spying on us."

"Because he's a mother f...wait, Theodore? As in Theodore _Nott_?" No wonder the man looked so familiar. At his accusation Hermione only shrugged. "As in the son of a Death Eater, Theodore Nott, or please tell me there's another one because there's no way Nott would be _your_ secretary."

"Assistant."

"What?"

"He's my assistant. And no one's told me but I'm pretty sure he's assigned to me as a sort of messed up punishment." She lifted one hand, "Death Eater child, here, you get to work for Muggle born child." She lifted her other hand to represent herself. "Although, he surprisingly knows a lot about Muggle technology."

Harry didn't buy that for a minute and simply frowned at her.

"No, I'm serious!" She continued. "He understands how the internet works and even hooked up a phone line. He hooked it up _inside_ the Ministry, Harry, even you have to admit that's pretty impressive."

Harry plopped down next to her while looking over his shoulder at the wooden door that separated them from Nott.

"So, pure-blood prick and best friend of Draco Malfoy is setting up Muggle internet and phone connections for you of all people." Harry mused.

"Did I say that it made any sense?"

Harry sighed. "How long has this been going on?"

At his question, Hermione scuffed her feet against the floor and wouldn't look at him."About five weeks." She finally admitted. Harry groaned.

"Is he the reason you didn't tell me about getting promoted. Didn't want me to come attack your new lapdog?"

"NO! I mean, I knew you weren't going to be happy about it."

"His father's a fucking Death Eater! The man tried to attack us in the Department of Mysteries! Hell, he may even have been in the final battle. Probably killed some people we know, I mean, knew."

"I know that!" She scolded. "But his father's in Azkaban, Harry, and Theodore never killed anyone. It doesn't mean I like him very much but he's not a murderer. Honestly though that's not the reason why I didn't tell you."

"You thought I'd be jealous?" Harry crossed his arms and stared at her while she continued to scuff her feet. "Really?"

"Well no, not _you_." She mumbled.

Harry actually managed to smirk a bit. "You were worried I was going to tell Ron. Like Ron would care how amazing your office is or that you have a minion."

Hermione finally raised her eyes to him."You'd be surprised."

Harry snorted. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He knew the two of them had been avoiding one another. Ron and Hermione had been living together up until two months ago when Hermione kicked him out of her house for reasons neither of them would admit to. Something along the lines of 'it's complicated' or 'none of your business' or 'bugger off, Harry'.

"It means exactly what it sounds like. Ron's jealous that my career is going better than his. He doesn't like it that I'm making more than him."

Harry highly doubted that. Ron was a traditionalist but he wasn't someone who expected Hermione to dampen her ambitions just for him. "You're not telling me the whole story." He accused her.

"Well, you're not telling me who made you clean up Tonks' things!"

Fair enough."It doesn't matter anyway, I'm not going to be an Auror anymore."

"WHAT?! Harry, it's your first day! You can't just give up. Just because some arsehat wants to make you miserable doesn't mean you can say 'sod it all, I'm going home.'"

She was right of course. Hermione was always right, damn her. "Well, what am I going to do? Run back over there and tell them to suck it?"

"That's a good start." She laughed. When he didn't move to stand up she punched his shoulder affectionately. "Come on, he can't be that bad. It's not like he's Umbridge or something. Not meaning to say you're overreacting a bit but you have dealt with a lot worse."

Harry rose with a sigh. "Really? Overreacting, am I? Have you talked to your friend the kettle lately, Miss Pot?"

"He made you cry!" She quipped. "And as soon as I find out who he is I'll be having some words with the higher ups on his behalf." She was smiling but Harry could tell she wasn't completely kidding.

"Please don't." He said. Before completely leaving her office he took the picture frame back from where she had dropped it on the couch. "But I appreciate the offer."


	2. Chapter 2

It took until the second week in December for Viktor to admit that Scottish winters could rival the ones he remembered back home. A fast wind was picking up speed around the field, sending familiar icy shudders down his back as he watched his players arrive one by one, each more bundled up than the last. He had to stop himself from sneering as he fathomed how British Quidditch players managed to even see let alone fly with all that clothing wrapped around them. He didn't dare say anything. Only in his first year of coaching, Viktor Krum teetered lightly between the roles of strict practice leader and fellow teammate as he struggled to manage his small team.

The Wigtown Wanderers were not as well know as Puddlemere United or The Chudley Cannons, but with Viktor at their lead and a promising new lineup of young talent, the Scottish team was starting to make headlines faster than any of their counterparts. However, if they couldn't even make it through a blizzard without everyone wearing at least seven layers he was going to have trouble.

Viktor quickly counted the people in front of him and when he was satisfied that most of his recruits had made it to practice, he nodded and signaled them to form up.

"Break into positions. Seekers, vith me." He shouted and frowned when he saw only two individuals approach him where there should have been three. He knew someone was missing but he wasn't expecting it to be his forward Seeker. "Ver's Malfoy?" He glowered at the other two.

"Don't know. Don't care." Weasley chided. Her face was barely visible between her monstrous scarf and hat but the bit of it he could see was red from the cold. The youngest of his players, Ginevra Weasley was also one of the most promising. She wasn't as talented as Draco Malfoy but when Potter had refused Viktor's proposal to join the team, Malfoy was an easy second choice while Weasley made his pick for third. The girl had never been happy with the decision and had argued that she made a far better Chaser but Viktor had been persistent. A skilled backup Seeker was worth dozens of good Chasers, even if she didn't get as much playtime being Malfoy's second.

But if the lip he got from Weasley was bad, the attitude from Chang was toxic. She knew that had Potter decided to take the position there would have been no spot left for a fourth Seeker. He understood both girls' frustrations that Potter was offered first position without even trying out. But instead of realizing that a player like Potter came only once a century, they had resorted to cheek and insults. Their resentment of Malfoy was justified, the boy was as nasty as a sick goat, but when they started calling Viktor a sexist bigot it was hard to keep his temper in check.

"Chang," He snapped at the dark haired girl, "You've seen Malfoy?"

She nearly growled at him. "No!"

"Ven did you last see him?"

"I don't know, maybe a month ago?" She raised an eyebrow to Weasley who nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, at the last practice before the vacation." Ginevra commented.

Viktor hoped his wrath could be smelled since neither girl seemed to notice how red his cheeks were getting nor did they sense the raise in his voice. He wanted to blame it on the thickening snowflakes but knew better. "You've been meeting every other day over vacation, yes? That vas the order!"

"You can't _order_ us to do anything!" The redhead began. "We are perfectly free to…"

He cursed loudly and thankfully in Bulgarian but it was still loud enough for the Keepers behind them to overhear and stop their conversations. Viktor grumbled and snatched the broomsticks out of both girls' hands. He'd always been a quiet man but in the correct circumstances he could come off as ogreish.

"Tell me you saw Malfoy at least vonce over vacation. Did you try to owl him?" He said. When he didn't get a response he paused to take a long breath before continuing. "He could have been hurt!"

Chang rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it. Malfoy's a prick. He probably just couldn't be bothered being seen with us blood traitors"

By far the Hogwarts students were his most difficult to manage team members. Their school rivalries followed them decades after graduation so Viktor wasn't surprised that a Slytherin teammate was having difficulties. Yet when Cho Chang brought up the blood status comment, Viktor almost tripped. He sadly wished he was back in Bulgaria where a person was a person. You didn't hate people because of their birth and you certainly didn't let something like a rude slur stop you from checking on a bloke to make sure he was alright. Even if Malfoy had said some hurtful things it didn't mean these girls needed to let him go missing for four fucking weeks!

"So, you never even thought to tell me that he vasn't showing up!? Even in veather like this? You all complain that the vinter has been bad and laugh at me ven I call you veak but as soon as Malfoy doesn't show up, you could care less!"

Hypocrites, the lot of them. It made him pine for Bulgaria for the third time that morning. Back home, going out in a storm with too much clothing on was laughable. But if a friend was expected somewhere during said storm you made sure that friend Flooed you as soon as they got there to make sure they were safe. You didn't let winter take advantage of you because if you did, she would suck you off your broom in spit you into the ocean like chewing tobacco in a Muggle's teeth.

"But, Malfoy went home for the vacation, didn't he?" Weasley muttered. Her tone finally beginning to soften.

"No." Viktor sadly responded. "Like the rest of you, he stayed in the village in order continue going to practice. That was the entire point of the vacation! Seekers to bond vith the Seekers, Keepers vith the Keepers and so on! You're supposed to be a team! And if anything were to happen you vere told to contact me!"

He had foolishly thought that the school rivalries were just that; rivalries. He thought a break would be good for them to work on their moves without him smothering every moment on the pitch. It had been a well needed pause for him to go home and catch up with his own family. But a team _WAS_ family. And this team was beginning to feel less and less so.

He shoved the broomsticks back into the women's arms. For they were women now not school girls. "Go home!" He snapped.

"But…" Chang started. Weasley silenced her with a look that Viktor thought may have held a guilty sheen. Instead of continuing to scold them, he blew his whistle and waved his arms until the rest of the Wigtown Wanderers surrounded him.

"Practice is cancelled!" He snarled. "Everyvone return to the village and stay there until I say so."

Guessing from the silence that followed he supposed they all had been eavesdropping on the entire ordeal. No one even attempted to ask about the sudden cancellation and in three seconds, Viktor had Apparated into his Scottish cottage. He downed a double, no, triple shot of firewhiskey before inking a quill to send owl to the Ministry of Magic. Selfishly, as he poured himself another shot, he wondered how long they would allow him to be coach when they learned his starting Seeker had been missing for more than four weeks. He laughed then poured the painful liquor down his throat.


	3. Chapter 3

"And that's when I decided to shag your sister."

"Uhuh." George let his gaze drift to the long window on his right. It had been snowing for nearly six hours and he wondered if they would get another rush of customers of if he should consider closing early tonight.

"Mate, did you hear what I said? I was talking about your sister again. Could you even try to pretend you were listening to me?" Lee Jordan was babbling on about something but George was too busy watching an Auror trudge through the snow. At first he thought it might have been Ron but on closer inspection he was surprised to see the Boy Who Lived stop at the front door of the shop and pound out his boots before entering. Lee followed George's gaze and beamed as Harry stepped through the almost empty store and joined them at the counter.

"'Lo, Harry. What brings you out in this mess?" George smiled at his fellow Gryffindor.

Harry merely shrugged. "I got out of work early so I thought I'd stop by while I was in London. How's the shop?"

Wasn't that a loaded question if there ever was one. George was getting sick of his friends 'stopping by' to see how he was doing. He couldn't tell anymore who was genuinely there to see him or who was just being concerned about him. Witness: Lee Jordan, who seemed to be an ever present leech on his neck. Lee was his best mate but the man was over enthusiastic and too pleasant to be completely real. Yet George couldn't just kick him out since he still wanted the company.

"Harry, you live in London. Don't lie to me. Now, what can I get for you?"

Harry had the grace to blush. "Ummm, yeah….about that. I actually moved."

"Moved?"

"Well, I haven't moved completely yet but I'm in the process of it. Looking at new flats today, actually. You haven't heard from Ginny at all lately, have you?"

Another loaded question. "Why? Is she still not talking to you? Maybe Lee knows something. He keeps talking about how he shagged her once."

Lee just smirked.

George crossed his arms while puzzling Harry's expression. Potter had his Auror robes still on and hadn't bothered to put a cloak over them. If he had been in such a rush to leave work without a cloak why had he walked here? Certainly it would have been faster to just Floo to the joke shop. "Harry, what's going on?"

"Nothing!" He stammered.

"You're lying again. If you're going to be an Auror you're going to have to be harder to read than that." George looked away from Harry to share a bewildered shrug with Lee. Harry noticed the movement and relaxed to lean into the counter before admitting what was bothering him.

"Ginny doesn't like Grimmauld Place."

"Can't blame her, it's a dump." George said without thinking. Harry glared at him. "Right, I know it was Black's house but even he didn't like it there. You can't honestly say that living there doesn't depress you." When Harry didn't answer but only looked glumly at his feet, George pushed a hand through his hair in shame. "Ok, so you're selling the place because of Ginny and now she's mad at you for some other unknown reason and you feel like shite. Am I right?"

"Mostly." Harry continued. "There's also the bit that Ron didn't want to move out so instead of just selling the property I gave it to him."

There was a long pause.

"Wait, back up, you gave Ron a house?!" George stammered.

"Yes."

"My brother, Ronikins. You gave him a house? Your _godfather's_ house!?"

Harry nodded slowly. "After Hermione kicked him out he moved in with me because he couldn't afford rent and I didn't want to live alone. It made sense. But then Ginny didn't want to live with him _and_ me so I thought it would be easiest if we moved out and Ron got to keep Grimmauld Place."

The poor bloke meant well, George was sure, but Harry always had lacked etiquette and tact when it came to these sorts of things. It probably had something to do with being raised by abusive Muggles and living under a staircase for eleven years. Well, that and being the savior of the world certainly made a person extremely generous. Harry would have given Ron his own lungs and kidneys if his brother had asked.

"And now both Ron and Ginny are mad at me." Harry sighed and pretended to be interested in the merchandise on the counter. "I don't know what to do."

"You could give the house to me." Lee Jordan piped in cheerily, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Just a suggestion." He added once George gave him an angry glance.

"So, I'm guessing that Ron refused." George asked. "You do understand why, right?" Harry grumbled something about pride and honor and George had to stop himself from grinning. "I wouldn't worry over it too much, Harry. He can't stay mad at you for trying to be a good friend. Ginny, on the other hand.."

Harry looked shocked. "What about, Ginny?!" Lee took that as his cue to leave and whistled at a pretty blond girl examining the dungbombs behind him.

"It didn't occur to you that asking her to move in with you might be the reason she's been so distant?"

From the way Harry's eyes widened like pufferfish it was easy to see that the kid knew absolutely nothing about women. Again, George blamed it on the abusive Muggles. Although that didn't explain why Ron was so clueless. How his younger brother had fucked up his chance at living with Hermione Granger, AGAIN, was still a mystery. "At least you aren't stupid enough to run off to Scotland after her." George joked. He laughed until he saw Harry's paling complexion, clearly telling that moving to Scotland was exactly what he had planned on doing.

"Really? That's where you were moving to?"

"NO!"

"Lying again, Mr. Potter. Mad-Eye would've been so disappointed in you."

Lee, always good at timing, picked that exact second to shove Harry closer to George and lean in to whisper at the two of them.

"So George, you know there's Muggles shopping here now?" Lee waggled his eyebrows like his annoying coworkers at the _Daily Prophet_ who worked in gossip.

"Huh?" Harry spun to look but Lee stopped him.

"Don't stare, Harry."

George snickered. "Good one, Jordan. You had us there for a minute."

"I'm serious!"

"Muggles?"

"Yeah, and hot muggles at that." He snagged George by the arm and pulled him around the counter, then pointed him in the direction of the blond haired girl he had been talking to before. "She's in your shop, mate, best go find out why."

One of these days George would have to kill Jordan for his disgusting matchmaking attempts. The man was right though, the girl was very attractive. She was a tiny little thing, even shorter than Gin, with gold chin length hair and simple rectangular glasses. She wore a pair of those bright colored rubber boots that Muggle women were so fond of, but the rest of her outfit was grey.

"George Weasley?" The girl asked him, not even bothering with pleasantries. "Alice Roberts. I'm a detective for the London Police Department. Do you have time for a few questions?"

It wasn't even remotely close to what he thought she was going to say but he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to a Muggle and had nothing to compare it to.

"I do." He replied. "Although you'll have to indulge me with the knowledge on how you know who I am. It's not often that beautiful strangers walk into my shop and demand to ask me questions."

George prided himself in the ability to charm any woman -and most men- into purchasing lots of merchandise from his store. But this woman wasn't enthused with charm. She wasn't a very cheerful person either.

"Do you perhaps know this man?" She pulled a small photograph out of a folder to show George the face of man that had clearly been dead for a while. He backed up from her immediately, shocked by the sudden change in conversation.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We found this man's body about two blocks north of here last night. He's approximately 186 centimeters tall and he was wearing long black robes. Nothing of note was found on his person except a few foreign coins, half a sandwich, a curiously carved wooden stick, and surprisingly," she removed another photograph, "a few items from your joke shop." The second photograph was of a handful of dungbombs laid out next to what must have been a Muggle measuring device depicting how large the dungbombs were.

"At the moment we are unaware of the cause of death but it appears to have occurred long before the body was found. It's obvious he was moved posthumously." She handed him the first photograph again and he reluctantly took it. "Does he look at all familiar to you?"

George was speechless. He had never seen this man before, at least, he didn't think so. It was difficult to recognize anything from the picture except that the man had light brown hair and his left eye was swollen shut while the other eye stared blankly out at the camera.

"If it helps, we believe he had a pet owl. A bit unusual, don't you think?"

George smirked at her and handed her back the grisly photograph. "I think that narrows it down to about eighty percent of the blokes I know."

"Eighty percent of the gentlemen you know have owls?" She lifted one eyebrow at him.

"Owls are rather common amongst our folk." George grinned.

"Your folk? Could you elaborate on that please?"

Again he was speechless. He looked behind him where Harry and Lee were watching intently with dumb grins on their faces. When he glanced back, Alice Roberts was giving him a frustrated sneer. "Anything at all you could tell me about the owls?" She said.

"Umm. Nope. That's awful strange though."

"You just said it was common."

"Right, well it was lovely chatting with you. Hope you stay out of that dreadful weather." But as he turned back to his friends she jumped in front of him and blocked his way.

"One moment, Mr. Weasley, do you think you could tell me a bit more about these, um, dungbombs."

"No."

Harry and Lee seemed to notice that something was wrong and made their way over to the woman. She took it as an opportunity to interrogate them as well.

"Excuse me, do you work here too? I'm with the London Police and I'm investigating a possible murder." She took the photo out again and handed it to Lee. "Does this gentleman look familiar to you?"

Lee Jordan was one to have a perpetual smile on his face. Sometimes George wondered if he would develop permanent wrinkles that would force his face into a grin even while asleep. Yet once the photo was in his hands Lee harvested one of his few frowns.

"Hey, this is Jiles Yellowbye. He's a writer down at the _Profit._ " Lee offered. "His brother died in the War. I think he went….OW!" Lee swore and glared at Potter who had obviously just elbowed him in the ribs to shut up.

"The Gulf War?" Alice asked, pulling a small book and Muggle pen out to take notes.

"Uh….yeah, the… uh. .. golf war." Lee commented. He rubbed his ribs and stepped on Harry's foot. The Auror moved away while rolling his eyes.

"Was it an older or younger brother?" Alice continued.

Lee didn't respond. He stared at the photo with a sigh before glancing at George sadly. He looked like he knew the answer but didn't have the courage to say anything. After a moment, Alice spoke again.

"They were twins, weren't they?" She stated as blandly as someone commenting on the wallpaper. Lee nodded. "Interesting. Mr. Weasley, I was told you had a twin brother as well who passed away. You two owned the shop together, correct?"

George suddenly felt very very cold. He looked at the woman again, this time he really looked at her. Were she a witch she would have been too young for a job in investigating murders. Her hair was slightly damp and he assumed she must have been out in the snow for a while. She wrote with her left hand and on instinct George looked at her right sleeve for a wand but there of course wasn't one. How did she know about Fred? Who would have told her?

"Yes, that's right." George quietly mumbled. "He was my business partner."

"Could you tell me how he died?"

At that, Harry snapped out of the shocked silence he had fumbled into and pushed into the woman's face.

"You need to leave." He stated while pointing strongly at the door.

Alice snapped the photo back from Lee.

"Right, this must be hard, I understand." She said with no hint of empathy. Her face remained completely neutral. "But I really do need to have you answer my questions. Perhaps on a different day we can meet and discuss this." She traded the photo for a business card that she pushed into George's hand. "Please contact me if you have any more information and when you feel up to talking." And with that she turned and trampled out the door, her rubber boots squeaking on the wooden floorboards.

"Bloody hell." Lee muttered as he watched her walk down the street through the snow.

George looked at the card that had Alice Roberts' name and job description typed in simple black letters. Beneath her name was a series of numbers and what looked like an address.

"You don't think…." George stumbled for the words. "How did she even get here? Diagon Alley is blocked to Muggles."

"Someone must have let her in." Harry guessed. He grabbed the card out of George's hand. "She looks genuine. But do yourself a favor, mate," Harry sighed and gave him back the business card, "don't try to contact her. I'll have to go back to the Ministry and tell them about the dead writer. They're going to want to know about this girl too. Probably need to Obliviate her. Fuck, I shouldn't have made her leave!"

Harry dashed out the door and yelled out into the street after the woman. George didn't watch to see if he caught up with her and instead looked back down at the card.

"Now that was the weirdest thing ever." Lee said. "You alright?"

George didn't know if he was alright. Talking about Fred was always rough but on the other hand he was perplexed at the short conversation he had shared with the Muggle detective.

"She knows something." George admitted. "She knows something about Fred and she wanted to talk to me about it."

Lee gave another one of his scarce frowns. "You aren't going to try and meet with her again, are you?"

"I might." George said.


	4. Chapter 4

Do you recall the first prisoner to be brought?

 _Yes._ Draco shuddered _Yes, I remember._

She had been barefoot when the snatchers dragged her in. Blood had caked on the souls of her feet either from running too hard or trying to kick her way free. Or both. She still had her Hogwarts robes on though they had been torn deep in the front as he recalled her desperately trying to cover herself to no avail. Two men had pulled her into the dining room and tossed her before Lord Voldemort's feet; an offering for a blood thirsty god.

"My my. What do we have here?" The Dark Lord had cooed. "Seems like dessert will be early tonight, Nagini."

"Lovegood's brat, my Lord." One of the snatchers had chimed. "You said you wanted her alive."

"That I did. Excellent work, gentlemen. I suppose our evening will be much less dull than I had originally assumed." He'd poured out of his chair, standing to retrieve his wand before addressing the Ravenclaw girl. "Now, what to do with you?"

Luna Lovegood had taken a visible gasp when the Dark Lord ran his fingers down her neck and lifted her chin to get a better view of her. "Certainly are a pretty little thing, aren't you? Well, we can't be having that, now can we? Your father would be very upset if my men took advantage of you. Nothing a few scars and a good scalping can't fix."

He'd lifted his wand.

Draco had screamed.

"NO! No, you can't!"

" _Excuse me?"_ Lord Voldemort had shoved Lovegood to the ground, forgotten, glided across the marble floor as though on ice, and stood before Draco. A long pale hand had shot for his throat like a viper and lifted Draco from his chair in one graceful arc. Instantly he had been pinned to the wall, nearly a meter above the ground while that corpse cold hand clawed his windpipe closed. "You dare tell me what I can and cannot do, boy?!"

Draco had kicked and scratched as he choked until he couldn't anymore. Until his legs had gone numb and his arms were too heavy to lift. Yet even as his body started to fail he couldn't stop seeing. Couldn't stop staring into those scarlet eyes with snake like pupils that slowly dilated from slits to deep inky bulbs. A vague recognition of a woman screaming had penetrated his brain even if she sounded underwater.

 _I'm sorry, mother._ He had thought. _I'm so, so sorry._

"No! Please, my Lord, he didn't mean it!" Her cry had pierced through, "He's young, he doesn't know better, please!

Somehow the grip around his neck had loosened enough for him to take one shallow raspy breath before being completely dropped into a heap of sputtering sobs on the floor, retching up the small amount of dinner he had been able to stomach. She had him in her arms as soon as he had collapsed.

"I hadn't realized you cared so much for your nephew's wellbeing." The snake lord had hissed, his pupils had returned to slits.

Draco had quivered when he saw that the woman holding him was not his mother.

3 years later

Blurriness.

Pain.

Exhaustion.

That was it. All he could manage understanding were those three things. Sometimes he was distracted by hunger but that quickly faded into nausea after consuming the horrid food he was given. Sometimes he would be overwhelmed by past memories and nightmares that were respite from the pain but not the relief he craved. It was an endless carnival of waking, crying, confusion and finally sleep before waking again to repeat the agony.

 _I must be in hell._ Draco figured. That or a torture chamber.

Time was strange. He couldn't place if he had been there for hours or days, maybe even weeks. Slowly the fogginess started to ease and he could see his surroundings. They kept him mostly in a bed. It wasn't cold like he had heard Azkaban to be described but it certainly wasn't comfortable. Strangely, the people here- his prison guards- pretended they were helping him. He was spoken to kindly, given blankets and glasses of water in funny cups with blue caps and straws. The majority called themselves nurses, although he never saw them nursing any babies. That must have been some sort of cruel joke. For all he knew they were Crucioing infants in the next hall.

He had been stripped of his clothes long ago and was forced to wear miserable blue shrouds that made his skin itch and left his backside uncovered. Potions were administered directly into his veins with a fucking needle. No joke, a needle! When they first tried that stunt on him they held him down and shoved the sharp metal object into his arm without even a how do you do. It was connected to a vial that contained enough potion to knock him unconscious in seconds. They would repeat the entire process whenever he tried to retaliate against them. If he attempted to escape he would be tackled back into his bed by two or three 'nurses' who were usually muscular tall men.

He learned fast not to refuse orders from these people. Early on he had refrained to take any potions they gave him to drink and he wouldn't eat any of the weird colored pebbles that were obviously potion related. They threatened that they would be given rectally instead.

He had been stupid enough not to believe that threat.

On the second day of not eating the little pink pebbles, a woman old enough to be his grandmother flipped him over on his stomach, put some transparent gloves on and shoved a marble sized stone up his arse with her index finger.

It was not an experience that Draco wished to repeat. After that, he tried to be a good little prisoner and do what he was told.

No one beat him. Besides the extremely bland food it didn't appear that they were trying to starve him. He wasn't shoved into a freezing cold dungeon and there were no chains. Surprisingly no curses either. His wand had been taken from him and if he asked for it he was told that magic wands didn't exist. After hearing that a few times he started to notice that no one here had wands. His head was fuzzy from the potions so it took a few days to register that he was, in fact, in some sort of Muggle institution. A hospital.

The realization was horrifying. If they were Muggles than it couldn't be potions they were giving him. What could they be instead? Poisons?

Before that he had been adamant in telling them who he was. He was Draco Malfoy! His father had a seat on Wizengamot as well as the Board of Governors for Hogwarts. Didn't they know that what they were doing was illegal!? Now he terribly wished he had kept his giant mouth shut. It was obvious the Muggles thought he was unstable; insane even. How incredibly stupid he had been to say so much. The more he had talked about Galleons or broomsticks or wands the more they had diagnosed him with whatever Muggle illnesses they knew.

About two weeks into the nightmare Draco was pulled into an office to talk one on one with a doctor.

"How are you feeling today, Draco?"

"I feel like monstrous load of shite that's been dumped into a well."

"Really? I'm sorry to hear that. Could you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten? One being no pain at all and ten being the worst pain possible."

This doctor was a pompous gentleman who spoke to Draco like he was seven. He had one of those strange clicking machines that had a button for every letter and every number. As Draco spoke the man pushed buttons to copy down whatever words he was saying into a large window that sat on the desk. It was a bit distracting to watch him doing it.

"Definitely not the worst pain possible." Draco mumbled to the Muggle. Had he been able to tell the doctor what sorts of pain he had been accustomed to a couple years ago he was sure the man would faint.

"Could you give me a number?"

Draco sighed. Muggles were crazy for their numbers. "I don't know, maybe a six."

"A six. And is that mostly from the head injury?"

The head injury. That was what they were calling it now. Yes, he had hit his head. He had hit his head very very hard on a concrete sidewalk outside an office building in east London. He knew he had fallen off of his broom; to the Muggles it had been a suicide attempt. Anyone falling from a height like that must have jumped.

"Yes."

"Alright, so maybe a little better than last week. Nurse Maggie says she saw you playing the piano after dinner today. She says you play beautifully."

Draco shrugged. The piano had been the only thing of worth in the entire place. The other patients were bothersome and talking to the nurses made him irritated. They had tried to get him to play some idiotic board game with fake money and little green houses. When he had insisted on sulking in his room instead they had bribed him out of it with the option of using the music room. He secretly thanked his mother for forcing him to take all those hours of piano lessons with Mrs. Lovewitz breathing down his neck.

"So, when did you learn how to play the piano? Did you have a teacher?"

"I started when I was five and took lessons until I was eleven." Draco answered blankly.

"Did you take any piano classes at your boarding school?"

The man was trying to divulge more into Draco's past. Whenever they brought up the boarding school bit it was clear they didn't believe any of his grand stories he had said about Hogwarts a few days ago. Now that he knew they were Muggles he had stopped the magical talk and the doctors were confused with the sudden change in discussion.

"No, they didn't teach piano at school." Draco stated.

"But they did teach you how to fly a broomstick?" He stopped clicking buttons to glance at the swollen lump protruding above Draco's left ear.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand how this is relevant."

"Draco," The doctor sighed and spun in his chair so he could face him eye to eye. Draco could see the little white badge above the man's heart that declared him as John Wittle MD. "we've noticed that your temperament has changed. You've become much more detached and almost numb to your surroundings. I would normally believe it to be a change in your medications but if that were the case it wouldn't cause you to start changing your stories."

"What stories?" He didn't like the way this conversation was going.

"Delusions, I should say. Did you read any of the information we gave you on your condition? The first step to your recovery is acceptance. Denying that there is a problem is one thing but suddenly pretending that you're no longer having delusions won't work here. We can tell that you still believe in, er, magical fantasies."

"So, you're never going to let me leave. I'm trapped here for eternity unless I can make up some bullshite story of a normal childhood! Which won't matter because you're never going to believe me anyways!" He was screaming now. The rush of blood to his face made his temples pulse and he swayed a bit thanks to the cracked skull he was still recovering from.

John Wittle went back to his buttons. "The road to recovery is a difficult one. We've been over the steps of your treatment plan and with the proper therapy and medication we know that you will be able to return to a healthy life. But we can't help you unless you're willing to try. Start with something small. Just read the pamphlets and we'll work on the harder stuff later."

"NO! Why should I read that crap?!"

"Draco, if you were really a member of some magical community don't you think they would have come looking for you by now?"

And there was the kicker. No one was trying to find him. There were no owls, no Ministry workers striding into his room, no angry rants from his father, and no one from the _Profit_ coming in to humiliate him and question how an international Quidditch star had fallen from his broom.

A terrible spark had ignited in his brain like a scrap of hot iron had stuck into his skull after he had cracked it.

 _A delusion._

The Muggle -could he even call him a Muggle anymore?- seemed to see that he was making progress and gave Draco a smile.

"Just try your best, son, that's all we can ask for."

Back in his hospital room Draco skipped his usual evening shower and decided to try Apparating one more time. He recalled back to his Apparition lessons, found a destination in mind and with as much deliberation and determination as he could muster, concentrated hard on his mind's eye of that particular location. Without a wand it would be difficult. With a head injury and no wand it was nearly impossible. But Draco had to try. Thirty seconds later when he woke up on the floor, no less than six health workers scurrying over him, that wretched spark of doubt was burning in his mind like fiendfyre.

"Draco! Draco look at me, sweetheart. Can you hear me? It's going to be alright dear, you just had another seizure." An older woman pulled him to a sitting position. His head flopped into her shoulder and she wiped the spittle from his face. He had drooled all over himself again and shoved her hand away in shame.

"Get him in bed." Someone said and he was lifted unceremoniously off the ground and carried to his hospital bed. They had done that thing where they bent the bed in half so he could lay in it sitting up. He was given more water and those weird pills he had to eat before they finally left him alone to rest.

The seizures exhausted him. Thankfully they had become less frequent but he knew Apparition was a risk.

 _Maybe because you made it up._ A shrill voice chided. _Maybe Apparating is another crazy idea invented by your madness. Just like everything else._

Draco wanted to scream. He wanted to throw the covers aside, dash across the room, shove the window open and jump. Maybe this time he would be successful in dying instead of bouncing off the pavement like a rubber toy.

He didn't though. Like always, Draco Malfoy was nothing if he wasn't a coward. It wouldn't be the first time he had contemplated suicide. During sixth year he had considered casting an _Avada Kedavra_ on himself not only as a way to escape but also to test if it would actually work. He'd never heard of someone trying to off themselves with the killing curse but he was willing to be remembered as the first to do it. In the end he never went through with it but instead had hurled his wand across the room in a fit of tears.

Now, looking back, he couldn't even be sure that had ever happened.

To have to doubt his own memories was suffocating. He couldn't decipher what was real anymore. Perhaps he was going mental simply because they told him he was. Was being there just making him more insane?

In hopes to appease his sudden mood drop the doctors tried to convince him to read the fucking pamphlets.

He wished they had beaten him instead.

 _So, you've been diagnosed with Schizophrenia. Now what?_

He glared at the disgustingly clean parchment that was so smooth it reflected the overly bright lighting that plagued the Muggle hospital.

 _No. Not Muggle. Just hospital._

Reading the information made him want to retch but he still read it.

Psychosis was more common in men and symptoms didn't usually become noticeable until one was in their early twenties. The cause was unknown and there was no cure and proper treatment could take years.

After that, Draco slipped into a terrifying head game that lasted for days. It wavered between fearing that everything he remembered was a delusion and panicking, or realizing that his life was a lie and not bothering to care anymore. He could either cry all night in fear of his future or he would sleep all day; completely apathetic to the goings on about him. Because if he were completely honest, everything seemed pointless now.

So when a nurse came in to tell him he had a visitor not only did he not believe her, he didn't care to answer her either.

"DRACO!" She snapped after calling him twice before.

"Merlin, woman, you don't need to shout. What do you want?" He didn't look up from the crossword puzzle he was scribbling in. It was only half eleven and he hadn't gotten out of bed yet.

"Like I said before," she huffed, "your sister is here to see you. Would you like me to bring her by?"

"My _sister_?" He blinked at the nurse, perplexed by what she had told him.

"I'll send her in. She's been very worried about you, what with you missing for almost five weeks. I wish we had been able to contact her sooner." And with that the woman turned around only to return a moment later with a familiar young woman in tow.

His eyelids might have been lost in his sockets from how much he widened his gaze when she walked into his room.

"GRANGER!" He squealed. He actually squealed when he saw her like he was Pansy fucking Parkinson on the day Draco had asked her to the Yule Ball. "Thank the gods above, Granger, is it really you!?" He crawled the length of the bed so he could grab her from where she stood by the door and pulled her into a strong embrace.

Obviously shocked by his outburst, Hermione Granger froze for a moment while Draco squeezed her before regaining composure and prying him off of her.

"Calm down, Malfoy." She shoved him back into the bed before turning to the nurse. "Could you give us a minute, please."

If the woman was surprised by his sister's sudden coldness towards him, she didn't show it. With a grin the nurse returned to the hallway and slowly clicked the door behind her.

"Alright, Malfoy, care to explain how…. Come on now, don't cry!"

He startled at her comment and wiped at his face only to discover the betrayal of the wetness on his cheeks. "I just...I thought I was going to be trapped here forever! They….they convinced me that I was delusional. Do you even realize how happy I am to see you! I was doubting everything. They told me I had made everything up, that I had made magic up! That it didn't exist!" He started to laugh as well as cry harder. She shook her head sadly and sighed.

"Get a hold of yourself." she moved to the side table by the bed to retrieve a tissue for him. "You look like death. What happened, Malfoy?"

"I fell off my broom." He stated before wiping his eyes on the tissue and swallowing a hiccup. She glared at him with disbelief. "Honest!"

Granger bit the corner of her lip. She looked the same as he remembered her, perhaps with a few more freckles and a bit more frizz. In her Muggle clothes she looked exceedingly frumpy. She held onto a packet of papers and stared down at it briefly before looking back at him. Her brown eyes flickered with something close to pity.

"They've diagnosed you with epilepsy and schizophrenia."

A lightening bolt of horror transfixed his spine as he wondered if she were about to tell him there were no such thing as flying broomsticks, that he had indeed made it all up, and that she really was his sister. That the past twenty years were a crazed delusion that he had been fostering.

"Have you been having seizures? Is that why you fell off your broom?"

The relief he felt from her admitting that he _did_ fall off a broom was flushed out by her acknowledgement of the seizures. He had never even heard of seizures until this whole Muggle institution debacle. He had been so focused on the not going crazy bit that he had downplayed the spastic uncontrollable fits he had been suffering from.

"Um.. yes. "

"You were having them before you cracked your skull?"

"Obviously, if that was the reason I fell off the broom."

She ignored his snark and continued to bite her lip. "How long have you been having them?"

Remembering, suddenly, that this was Granger, Draco didn't feel so cheery to open up all his medical history to her. The fits had been embarrassing enough as it is. He didn't need Princess Gryffindor to be stuffing his face in it and announcing to the world that Draco Malfoy, star Seeker and former Death Eater, was plagued with drooling attacks.

Yet, for some reason, a gentle whisper of worry passed over her eyes. Not pity, but actual genuine concern. It was something he would have expected from an old friend, not the girl he had bullied for six years at school. Not from the girl who had almost been tortured to death on his drawing room floor.

"I don't know, maybe for a year or so." He looked away when he answered her question.

A lie. Hopefully she wouldn't notice.

Looking out the window for the first time that day he realized it was snowing. Strange, it almost never snowed in London.

He also realized that he was still crying when he felt a hot tear fall on his hand.

"Do you know what causes them?"

Draco wiped his face. After more than two years of the dreaded things he had begun to see a pattern. A horrible punishing pattern.

"Apparating. Not everytime, mind you, but enough that it got dangerous. Then Floo travel became nearly impossible about two months ago." He grimaced, not wanting to recall the time he had woken up in some stranger's house spasming on the floor when he had meant to be going to the Leaky for drinks with Blaise and Pansy.

"And now flying?" She finished his thoughts.

Draco could only nod. He had been denying it to himself for weeks now, had refused to mention it to anyone but still had fled Scotland in a dizzying fury after his last day of practice. It had ripped his soul apart knowing that the only thing that brought him happiness was the thing that would kill him.

"Flying's all I have." He grumbled to her.

Granger watched him for a long moment. Clearly she hadn't expected him to divulge so much to her and frankly, he hadn't expected it either. Perhaps he was so traumatized by the hospital visit that he needed to vent or perhaps he had hit his head too hard. Draco didn't know. He had maybe spoken five sentences to this woman in the past few years but today he had said more to her about himself than to anyone else in that same amount of time.

Granger didn't let the deep sharing session last. With a nasty scoff she pulled out her wand and moved closer.

"You dolt, flying isn't _all_ you have. Now, let me see your head."

He knew with the ridiculous bald patch they had shaved into his scalp that it wouldn't be hard for her to find the wound. He winced when she poked her wand at it.

"Twelve stitches. Impressive, Malfoy, no wonder they had you on opiates for so long. " A flick of her wand and a mumbled incantation had the pain vanished from his skin. He ran his fingers over what had once been itchy angry flesh that was now smooth and flawless. "I'll get your things and we'll have you out of here in no time."

That simple task seemed dauntingly difficult for even the golden trio's Hermione Granger. Draco noted that she almost had to threaten a lawsuit at the receptionist in order to release him from the hospital.

"...highly inadvisable, miss. Your brother is suffering from severe.."

"Doesn't matter! You can't legally hold him here against his will! He should have been discharged ages ago!"

"Unfortunately, in his condition we believe he is at high risk of harming himself. Without a doctor's approval…."

"Well, now that I'm here I can vouch for his safety. Your options are to either let me take him home or to refuse me now and have me come back with my lawyer later."

"Of course, miss, as his sister you are welcome to take him home but remember that it is against the doctor's wishes and we…"

"Very good, could you retrieve his belongings for me please."

His robes and wand were returned to him. Granger had to actually tell him to go get dressed because he was too busy ogling his wand. Had it always been so light? Surely another wooden object of the same size would have weighed more.

"You're not letting him go outside in that, are you?" The receptionist snapped, probably still miffed that Granger had one upped her on getting him out. "Wearing something like that will just further his belief in delusions."

"I think after five weeks in hospital he deserves to wear whatever he wants. Plus, patients are able to understand you most of the time so if you don't wish to further their belief in delusions you may want to talk to them directly."

For the first time in his life, and perhaps the first time for any Malfoy ever, Draco found that he was actually thankful for Muggle borns.

He made a point to tell her so as they exited the building but she brushed him off.

"Don't thank me, I'm just doing my job. If anything you should be thanking Nott."

"Theo did this?" He shouldn't have been too surprised.

"He works for me at the Ministry. When we heard you were missing yesterday, Nott scoured the Muggle hospital records and police reports until he found you. For a pureblood Slytherin he sure knows how to decode confidential computer listings rather well. Of course, I had to be the one to retrieve you." She grinned at him smugly. "Guess you owe me one now."

 _You owe me, Cissa!_

Draco froze and tried to forget the rasping whispers.

"Come on, we can take a taxi to the Ministry since Apparating is obviously out. I'm sure your parents will want to see you as soon as…."

"NO!" He yelled at her sharply. It was loud enough to gain the remaining Muggles' attention who hadn't already been staring at his robes. "I can't see them!"

She turned and scowled at him with a confused scrunching of her nose. "Why?"

He glanced anxiously around the crowded entryway of the hospital until Granger gestured him to a quieter alcove used to hold wheelchairs where they could speak more freely.

"I'm…I haven't been on good speaking terms with my parents."

"Why?"

He glared at her. _You know why, you're no idiot._ He thought. Though she clearly didn't realize it.

"What, you mean the whole Death Eater thing?" She mused, butcherly slashing the entire War into a short phrase. Yes, forcing him to join a murderous cult when he was sixteen did diminish some of his family affections but that wasn't the half of it.

"I do not wish to see my parents and I do not want to go to the Ministry. It will only take minutes of being there before someone alerts my father of my presence. Avoiding the man will be difficult once he finds out I was injured."

She frowned. "And your father being concerned about you is suddenly a bad thing? I'm going to have to take you to St. Mungo's anyways. Those seizures are a problem and someone is going to recognize you there too. Might as well meet your dad at the Ministry first instead of waiting for him to demand to see you at the hospital. I'm on the line here too, Malfoy, I would prefer not to have your father tearing my office door down when he finds out I didn't bring you straight to him."

"Then we won't go to St. Mungo's" He answered her flatly.

She gaped at him. "What!? You...you're sick, you have to go to the hospital!"

"I have had enough of hospitals for the time being, I think. I'm not sick."

"Then where are you going to go?" She stated. "Back to your Quidditch team? Pretty sure they'll announce your presence to the entire world pretty quick. Viktor's the one who noticed you were missing in the first place. I bet he'll be delighted to let everyone know that you're completely fine and ready to play again. Oh wait, except you're not fine, are you?"

"You're still pretty close to _Viktor_ , I see." He said, trying to derail from his evident inability to fly.

"Closer than you must be, seeing that he didn't even notice you were missing until yesterday."

Draco blinked. " _Yesterday?"_

"Which is why your parents are going to have my head if they don't see you immediately."

"No."

"Malfoy, you're…"

"Take me to Theo, then."

She snorted at that. "Theodore lives with your parents."

He blinked again. "Really?" At her nodding he considered his best friend and concluded that if anyone deserved to be utterly spoiled by Draco's overbearing mother it would be Theodore Nott, whose own mother had mysteriously passed away during their second year. "I suppose that I'm stuck then. I'll have to stay with you."

"WHAT!" She shook with fury. "NO!"

"You're right. I have nowhere else to go. And since you seem to know quite a bit about medicine you would be my best option."

"NO!"

"And since it's against my will for you to declare my presence to anyone you have to swear to my secrecy."

"WHAT?!"

"Patient confidentiality and all."

If he touched her he was sure her skin would burn him with how red and angry she'd become. "You can have that at St. Mungo's too!"

"You don't actually believe that, do you? With who I am and how rich my father is you really think that everyone who sees me at the hospital will keep it secret?"

"I'm no mediwitch. You need proper treatment."

"But you know enough to qualify amongst the best. I'm sure whatever research they could do you could do better." He purred. She was considering him seriously now. He supposed complimenting her couldn't hurt.

"You really want to avoid them that much, don't you?" She mumbled.

He sighed. "Yes."

"Enough that you want to remain missing to the entire magical world?"

He thought for a moment. This would mean no more Quidditch for a long time. Not that he would be doing much flying anymore. "Yes. At least for now."

"Fine." She reluctantly agreed. "Hope you're okay with living in a Muggle neighborhood."

"After the last few weeks, I think I can handle a bit more Muggle anything."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Let's try this again! Sorry this chapter was in code before. Don't know how that happened. Thanks for reading!**_

The sandwich shop was nearly empty by the time George was able to get there. It was extremely Muggle, stuffed with ugly rigid chairs and tables. There were pictures that didn't move on the walls and the few customers present were all wearing denim.

Alice Roberts sat towards the back of the shop sipping on a giant mug of coffee that looked comical in her small hands. She didn't say anything when he moved to her table, just pushed the chair across from her out with her foot to offer him a seat.

"You don't own a phone?" She said once he sat down.

"I don't...what?" He stammered.

"A phone?" She pulled a small black object from her pocket to show him, "You know, a mobile?" putting the thing on the table and sliding it towards him so he could see it better. She pondered him as he didn't move to pick it up.

"I don't, no."

"I didn't think so. You're one of the only people I've interviewed who contacted me by letter. Not the first though."

"Oh." He glared at her, waiting a few beats for her to ask him a question. When she let the silence slip over and just sipped her coffee he finally picked up the black object. It was about the length of his palm and built of the smooth material he had learned from his father was called plastic.

"It's a flip phone." She stated.

"Of course." He answered her, mulling it over in his hands.

"Meaning it flips open. You do know how to open one, don't you?"

She was teasing him, he assumed, the slight upturn of her mouth giving tell that she knew very well that he had never in his life held a flip phone.

"Uh huh." He handed the phone back to her.

"Would you like me to order something for you? Since your money's no good here."

Careful. Don't let her know more than she already does.

"What makes you say that?"

She frowned at him. "I went to your shop, George, I could tell your people use a different form of currency."

Too smart, this one. George was well aware of what happened to Muggles that were too smart and too curious about the magical world. It never ended well.

"My people?"

"Going to play dumb? Fine. Forget the food." She reached under her chair to grab a large book that appeared to be a photo album as well as her notepad and pen. "I was going to try to ease into this gently but you probably want me to get straight to the point. While I've been investigating murders for years, my focus has been on certain special cases that fall under, well I suppose you would call it a more supernatural theme. Victims that have been subject to indescribable deaths that are complete mysteries to modern science. We call them the "petrified persons" since they seem to have nothing wrong with them minus that they have terrified expressions on their faces; almost as though they've been scared to death." She glanced at him slowly, judging how he was taking the information like an owl contemplating how to lift a rather large parcel. "You don't seem shocked by that."

Again, he found it difficult to talk to this girl. Something that usually wasn't a problem. "Should I be?"

Alice narrowed her eyes and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Well, if you aren't already, you will be soon. So of these thousands of "petrified persons" cases, most of the victims have been identified. However, there are about two hundred that have never been claimed by family members or friends. These individuals tend to follow a bizarre dress code. They have a thing for robes. Either than that there isn't any specific pattern. They are every race and every age. Even children." She moved to open the book of photographs but stopped. "I'll warn you that these are graphic."

He bent back from the table and clearly lifted his hand to stop her from showing him the gruesome images but she was already pushing the photos into his face.

"It's important that I let you see these." She blurted. "I need help identifying the victims and you're the best lead we've ever had. Please."

George sighed and with a heavy lurch from his stomach took the book from her.

Surprisingly it wasn't as bad as she had lead him to believe. Expecting to see innocent wizards and witches who had been murdered with the killing curse by Death Eaters, George was a bit confused to see image after image of peaceful faces. It still wasn't a delightful album to peruse, the folks were still just as dead, but no obvious force or maltreatment had been done to the cadavers.

"Wait, I thought you said two hundred? This is only about fifteen."

"Twelve, actually." She admitted. "Thirteen if you count, um…" Pausing, she pulled one last photograph from her jacket pocket. George watched her look at it sadly before starting to return it into her clothes. He snatched her wrist in his hand, causing her coffee to spill a bit on the picture she was holding. "I really shouldn't…"

"Show me." He demanded.

It wasn't a good idea, he figured after she surrendered the photograph to him: looking at that image after she had clearly cautioned him as to what or who may be on that picture. There was no turning back after he flipped the small glossy paper over and wiped the coffee droplets from the dead boy's visage. The dead boy who looked exactly like George but so different. How many months had it been since he'd seen his twin's face?

"I'm sorry." Alice whispered. A dewdrop of emotion starting to glisten through her usual stony appearance.

"How…?" He tried to speak over his quivering throat but couldn't.

"These last few," she motioned to the album, "These are victims we have found in the past three months or so."

"That's not possible!" George gulped,

"I know,"

"He's been dead for…"

"I know."

"That must mean…"

"I know,"

George smacked the photo back onto the table and glared into the hazel irises of the woman sitting across from him. "How do you know?"

"The remaining thirteen are believed to be found at much later dates to their original demise." She stated flatly. Again, back to her Professor Binns imitation drawl. "Your brother's body was discovered on the south shore of the Thames sixteen weeks ago. I wasn't able to identify him as Fred Weasley until last Thursday when I spoke with your father."

"My father talked to you?!"

She nodded. "He didn't want you to know about this. Not yet, anyways. He didn't want to upset you."

George groaned in frustration and dropped his head on the table. "Well, jolly good job you did on that one, dad. I'm not at all upset. Not one bit. "

"I'm sorry I went against his wishes but after the body we found last week we needed to follow up on any lead we had."

"You mean…?"

"Jiles Yellowbye." She flipped through the book to the last image of the man she had shown him with the one swollen eye. "Or what we now believe to be his twin who passed away two years ago. Mr. Jiles is still alive and well."

George pondered at the picture of the dead man. The one she had brought to his shop on their first meeting. "I don't understand."

Roberts sighed and pulled the book back to the front page. "Do you recognize anyone else?"

George didn't want to look at any more photos. He shoved the album back at her. "Explain to me how people who have been dead for two years are suddenly turning up all over the city."

Alice reached her hand out and removed the snapshot of Fred's blue face and gently began to put it into the book of pictures. "Therein lies the mystery." She mumbled. "Obviously foul play is at hand. Someone must be exhuming the bodies."

George stared at her, his mouth gradually opening like a curtain being blown in a breeze. "What?"

"Do you recall your brother's funeral?" She blurted, taking a large sip of her coffee now that it was cool enough to drink at full speed. "Was it an open casket? Your father didn't want to discuss it with me."

Of course he remembered Fred's funeral. The details were foggy as he had spent most of the day with a glass of firewhiskey in hand trying to avoid the multitude of people who kept needing to talk to him. Mostly it had been a carnival ride of his parent's friends and previous classmates revolving around him, trying to get some sort of pity parade going with comments on how sorry they were. Was that when Harry had punched a reporter for bringing a Quick Quotes Quill to the ceremony? Then again he probably did that at the Lupins' funeral. Or it could have been at the small service they had held for Sirius Black that was supposed to be private. George was pretty sure he had been sloshed for all of them.

"George?" Alice brushed her fingers over back of his hand. "How about I get you something to eat?"

"No."

"Are you sure? They have excellent soup here."

"I mean, no, it wasn't an open casket."

She nodded, finally opening her notepad to write. "How did they prepare the body? Do you recall that he was placed in the casket before the ceremony?" She stated, the previous notion of the soup forgotten. He could see the wisp of eagerness in her scribbling probably realizing that this was the biggest break she had gotten on the case yet.

"Prepare the...what?"

"He wasn't embalmed in any way we've ever seen. Unlike Yellowbye and many other victims we were able to conclude a cause of death. Here being a severe laceration to the inner organs, mostly in the lungs, as well as several broken ribs. We believe he was either crushed beneath a heavy object or subject to a fall." She babbled. "But either than the injuries the body has no visible decay. You can imagine our confusion after a carbon dating test gave results dating the death of your brother to over twenty seven months ago. Yellowbye passed about thirty four months ago as did a few others. In fact, not one of these victims was alive at any point after the death of your twin. Some at the same time but none after."

"But,"

"Embalming would normally be the only way to keep a cadaver at such a high quality of preservation but these specimens have no hint of the usual embalming chemicals. None at all. All the blood and organs are completely intact. Could you tell me what preparations , if any, were done to the body before burial?"

He was flabbergasted that they had examined Fred's body in such detail. Irate, even, to think of what drastic Muggle instruments they had used to discover the information she was telling him. He didn't know what exactly embalming was but from the gist of what she was saying, he really didn't want to know.

"Is he… what did you do with him?" George stumbled. "Fred, er, the body that is?"

Roberts bit her bottom lip in a slight frown, perhaps realizing that she may have spoken too frankly. "Sorry, I forgot to say that your brother is being held at full care and protection at the city morgue. After the court determines that no more evidence is needed from the body, he will be returned to your family. All funerary costs will be covered by the department."

"He's being held where?! The court?" His eyes were beginning to drip with swollen tears and George mopped at them angrily with a napkin.

"At the city morgue. Usually we would have required permission from the family before…"

"What's the morgue?" He asked loudly.

Alice blinked at him sluggishly and took another long swallow of her coffee. "You don't know what a morgue is?"

"No." He responded a bit quieter. A morgue must be something most Muggles were aware of.

"It's a location, usually underground, where cadavers are held for examination and storage before burial or cremation." She said.

George's eyes bulged. He wiped up a few more stray tears. So Muggles held bodies away in large underground tombs just so they could study them. He had a terrifying memory of Snape's collection of dead rats and toads he kept in jars to administer experimental potions to.

"NO! You can't keep him there!"

Detective Alice Roberts sighed and began putting away the photo album and notepad. Although she seemed frustrated that he wasn't giving her the answers she desired, she had realized that George wasn't going to handle discussing this much longer.

"We don't have other options. Fred's case is extremely rare and I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this. Especially after what must have been a very tragic time for you." She paused as George sniffed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Obviously the two of you were very close."

"Inseparable." He mumbled with a small grin, looking at his palms so he didn't have to face her. It was a term his mother had used to describe her twin sons often.

"The fact that both of the known victims were identical twins makes me believe that this is some sort of pattern. That someone is doing this on purpose for some sick reason."

George blanched. "But why?"

She shrugged. "I'm doing my best to find that out, trust me. I promise, once we get to the bottom of this we can have your brother set properly back at peace again."

Apparently retrieving Fred's body back from the Muggles wouldn't be an easy task.

"I think I should get you something to eat still." She continued. "Or in the light of our previous conversation, perhaps a stiff drink."

George nodded, too emotionally exhausted to argue.

"Were we in any other situation I may have waited for you to make the first move." She allowed a small grin to brighten her features. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

Had she just proposed they go on a date? After doling out photographs of his brother's corpse she was asking him out for a drink? That wasn't normal Muggle behavior, right?

"You're a very odd bird." He quipped. Strange as she was, he had to admit that the offer had cheered him up a bit.

"I may have been told that one before. Although, I admit I do have some alterier reasons for pursuing you. Your father may have mentioned how one in my position may be at risk. There is a loophole though, so that I can continue learning about your people without getting my memory erased, or so he put it. That is, if I'm courting one of you."

George groaned. Of course this had all been his father's plan. Merlin, was everyone really that desperate to get him a girlfriend. He could imagine that Arthur Weasley, Muggle enthusiast number one, would have been overjoyed to set up his last single son with a Muggle detective. Well, Ron was single now too but they all knew that wasn't going to change.

"He didn't specifically volunteer you for the position but you're attractive and friendly so I don't see why not. Unless you're seeing someone?" She mused.

George's stomach fluttered. "I'm not."

"Excellent." She sucked down the rest of her coffee. "I'm not supposed to date work related clients but in this case I think I can make an exception. Are you interested in a long term relationship?"

"I… you certainly are quick to the point. Are you always this bold?"

"In my line of work you have to be. Answer the question."

"Um well, I can't say I really know. Haven't ever considered it."

"So I take it you don't date much."

He gawked at her. No, he didn't date much. He'd hardly been on more than two or three dinners since the War and they had never amounted to more than a one night stand.

His silence seemed to be a good enough answer for her as she slipped into her coat and offered him her arm to escort him from the table.

After three or four beers and a carton of Chinese takeout, George was feeling immensely better than before. Having a pretty girl in his flat to talk with helped too. Alice was a fascinating person to learn about and chatting her up was proving to become easier as the night went on.

He learned that she was five years his senior, had an excellent memory for names and faces, and that she had almost no sense of humor. None. The irony that he owned a joke shop was not lost on her. She had two siblings that were much younger than her since her father had remarried later in life after divorcing her mother almost fifteen years ago.

Thankfully she stayed away from the topic of her job and about Fred although she was a bit shocked to discover that George came from a family of nine.

"You have five brothers!?" She blinked up at him from her seat at the kitchen table.

"And one sister." He grinned. He was using his white plastic fork to scrape the last bit of sauce from the bottom of the cardboard container. "Bill's the oldest then there's Charlie, Percy, Fred, me, Ron and Ginny."

"Ginny?"

"Ginevra, she's named after my great aunt."

"And they planned on having that many kids? Even after having twins your mother still had two more babies?"

George laughed. "Yeah, well, mum really likes babies apparently. She swears that had Ginny been a boy they would have kept trying until they finally had a daughter. I don't really believe that though. I'm pretty sure Gin was an accident since they had her so soon after Ron. They're only a year apart, it's almost like having another set of twins."

"Christ, I barely handled having one little brother and sister, I can't imagine having six."

George laughed again. "Well, it's not all bad. There was always someone around to talk with if you were bored. That and we're all pretty close in age. I'm sure it's different when you're ten years apart."

"Fifteen years apart." She groaned. "Sam is going to be thirteen in August." She looked out the window gloomily.. "Kim will be eleven next November. I don't talk to them much anymore."

Getting the hint that it was an unpleasant subject, George moved to take her empty food carton and beer bottle.

"You done?" He asked. She nodded and he pulled out his wand and performed a quick vanishing charm to eliminate the rubbish.

"So, I was thinking…"

"WHAT!?" She was gaping at him suddenly, practically falling out of her chair in such haste to move away from him. "What did you just do!?" Her eyes glaring at the wand in terror.

Oops.

"Um, well. That's what we call magic." He gave her the biggest grin he had before transfiguring his plastic fork into a rose and handing it to her. "Ta da!"

Probably not the best way to ease a Muggle into the Wizarding World but certainly not the worst.

"Oh, so you're a magician too?" Her face perked up. "My grandfather was a magician. Well, he was actually a plumber but he did magic shows at weddings and stuff when he was younger. Mostly card tricks but he could do the sawing the lady in half bit."

"Um." George tried to understand what she was talking about for a minute as she chatted on about how her grandparents had met. It happened at some sort of magic event where her grandfather had apparently not succeeded in cutting a girl in half with a sword.

"...but granny could tell that the feet sticking out of the back of the box were fake so she called him a fraud right to his face. He somehow was able to charm her into going on a date with him after that."

"Why was he trying to cut a woman in half?" George was waiting for some terrible murder story to bubble up after hearing what types of people Alice researched at work. But she just laughed at him. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh.

"I don't know, that's just what the magic trick is. Do you know any more?"

"Any more what?"

"Any more tricks, silly. Can you do that one where you pull a scarf out of your thumb?"

"Huh?"

"You know, you wave the wand over your hand and suddenly you pull a scarf out of thin air when it was really stuffed into a fake plastic thumb the entire time. Sorry, I guess it doesn't really work if I already know how you do it." She smirked at him. "I bet you palmed the fork in your sleeve and had the rose in your lap or something."

She thinks it's all a trick. He bemused. Muggles must pretend they can do magic for some sort of entertainment purpose. He seemed to remember hearing Hermione Granger explaining that once.

"Alice, um, how do I say this, uh, you know how I'm part of another group of people. Another community like you mentioned."

"You mean, your religious group? You're kind of like the orthodox Jewish people it seems. Although they don't seem nearly as secretive as your lot. And they don't worship owls. The robe wearing thing is kinda strange too."

"Um, no. Not a religion, really. We're a magical community. Wizards and witches."

"What?"

"They aren't tricks they're actually magic."

She smirked again. "Very funny, George, good joke."

"It's not a joke!"

"Says the man who owns the joke shop."

How was he going to prove this to her? George took the rose back and held his wand to it. "Here, I'll transfigure it into something else. Give me another object to turn it into. Anything."

"Really? Sure, okay. How about another beer?"

George tipped his head to one side in an amused quip. "You can think of something better than that."

He sort of hoped she would say something naughty and was a bit disappointed when she happily announced that she wanted a purple elephant.

Her delight when the tiny creature pranced around table did make up for it. Soon he had a herd of miniature rainbow elephants marching about the kitchen where he had once had plates and cups.

"Will they stay like this forever?" She beamed. She held a yellow elephant in her palms like Ginny had held her first broom.

"No." He admitted "In an hour or so they'll all change back."

Alice didn't seem very upset about that. Instead she looked downright enchanted. He supposed he would too if he had just discovered magic existed. "What else can you do?!"

George would have gladly taken every item out of his joke shop to show her. He wanted to pull his broom out of the front hall closet and take her for a ride. Hell, he would even peel out his old textbooks from Hogwarts if it would impress her but he knew there was such a thing as too much at once. Overwhelming the young woman couldn't be a great first date move.

"A lot." He answered her question vaguely. "Magic can do a lot."

She scratched the elephant's neck which had a yellow floral pattern down it's back that matched the teacups he had inherited from Uncle Fillmore and Aunt Minn.

"Well, I'm looking forward to you showing me." She propositioned.

For the first time in forever George reckoned he actually had something to look forward to too. Even if it might be just transfiguring kitchen utensils into circus animals.


	6. Chapter 6

"Mail's here." Ron announced as Harry groggily slumped into the kitchen. He hadn't bothered putting his glasses on yet so Ron's miniscule owl was just a fluffy blur of high pitched peeps circling the room. "You got a letter."

"Is it..?"

"Not from Gin." Ron answered before Harry could ask the question in entirety. "Doesn't look that important, though."

Harry nodded and slipped into the rhythm of making breakfast amidst the worn and dusty counters that crowded the grungy kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Ron had only started talking to him again last night and had brought a twelve pack of ale and a set of wizards chess as an apology offering. Neither of them had woken up that morning feeling clear headed or cheerful.

He didn't get to the letter until after sitting at the table and finishing his third slice of toast. It was a small envelope addressed to him only by name with no listing of his street number. He ripped it open and squinted through his poor nearsightedness to read the note.

 _Harry,_

 _I hope this finds you in good health. I know it's been a long time but I wanted to inform you of Vernon's passing and I would be honored if you could attend the funeral._

 _Petunia._

He read it about four more times before Ron realized that something was wrong.

"What is it?" His friend asked. "You look ill."

"My uncle died." Harry mumbled. His half eaten piece of toast in one hand and the letter in the other.

"Your Muggle uncle?"

"Do I have any other uncles?"

"I don't know. Maybe your dad had some siblings they never told you about. You can have some of my uncles if you want."

Harry handed Ron the letter. "Aunt Petunia wrote to me."

Ron took the note and read it, flipping it over to see if there was more written on the back. "She'd be honored if you could attend? Huh. It doesn't give you any details. Check the envelope to see if there's more."

Sure enough, Aunt Petunia had clipped the obituary out of a local paper and had sent it to Harry in the same envelope. It was a short blurb claiming that Vernon Howard Dursley, a beloved father and husband, had died of complications from diabetes four days ago in his home in Little Whinging. He had only been fifty six years old. Services were being held at the neighborhood church next Saturday.

"Didn't mention you in the obit, did they." Ron gave him a sour expression as he handed Harry back the newspaper snippet.

"Of course not. He was a loving father and husband, not an uncle."

"Then why is she writing to you? She even went through the effort of sending it to you by owl. Doesn't seem like something your magic hating aunt would do."

"No, it doesn't." The last time he had heard from his mother's sister was when Dudley had gotten married to an American woman he had met on the internet. Petunia had contacted him to insist that Harry come and remove his 'nasty witchy things' from his old bedroom so the Dursleys new in-laws could stay there during the wedding. She had written to him through Hermione's address, the only one of them who lived in a Muggle house. The fact that his aunt had remembered Hermione's name was mind boggling enough let alone her ability to track her address down.

His old school supplies and Hedwig's things didn't mean enough to him for Harry to venture back to Privet Dr. to retrieve them. Aunt Petunia had never tried to reach him again and Harry assumed his 'nasty witchy things' had been burned.

"So, you aren't going to go are you?" Ron asked through his mouthful of eggs. "S' not like the big Muggle's going to care if you show up to his funeral or not."

"Not on your life." Harry grumbled before crumpling up the letter and vanishing it with a wave of his wand and a puff of green smoke. Whatever reason his aunt had felt deserved Harry's attendance, he was sure he would never care to know. "You get a chance to talk to Luna, yet?" He changed the subject.

"Loony?" Ron scoffed. "No, why would I be talking to her?"

"She came looking for you a couple days ago. Said she wanted to discuss something with you. You weren't here since, well…"

"Since I was ignoring you. Yeah, sorry about that." Ron poked his eggs around his plate. "What did she want to talk to me about?"

Harry frowned. "She didn't say. Just Flooed over one evening from the Ministry. She said she had looked for you at the Auror's office too."

"Well, that's probably where I was. Shacklebolt's got us working late on that Yellowbye case. Strange that I didn't see her there if she were looking. You think she's getting more batty than before?"

Harry put his toast crust down and glowered at Ron. "Don't call her batty!"

"What? That's what she is! I bet she was coming by to ask me about Noogles or Whambats or something for her magazine."

"Why would she be asking you of all people?"

"Bloody hell should I know? She's batty! I think spending all that time in the Malfoy's cellar may have addled her brain a tad."

Harry threw his toast crust in Ron's face. "You can't say things like that!"

"Eww! Watch where you're aiming, twat!"

"I think she fancies you." Harry grinned. The idea that Luna had gone the effort to track Ron down at work _and_ at home was odd even for her. She was a busy person with having to help run her father's magazine publishing company. If she had wanted to talk to Ron about Narwhals she would have just owled him.

"WHAT!? No she doesn't!" Ron's ears had changed to a familiar shade of pink. "Aren't her and Neville a thing? I thought they were madly in love and all that mushy crap."

"Nope!" Harry brightened. "They broke it off after Neville started working at Hogwarts."

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't see Neville much anymore. The last time they had run into each other Neville had briefly explained that he had been given the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at school and that it was the best thing to ever happen to him.

 _"Now Gran can't force me to live with her anymore!"_ Longbottom had gushed. _"She was never going to let me get my own place unless I was getting married, but if Professor McGonagall is personally requesting me for the position, she has to let me go!"_

They had both been in the waiting room at Gringotts and Harry had called Neville over to say hello when he had seen his old roommate rushing through the door.

 _"She's forcing you to live with her?"_

 _"Yes, well, after what happened with mum and dad and then all those things I did during the War, Gran has gotten a bit overprotective as she's gotten older."_

 _"No kidding. But I thought you and Luna were getting married? Ginny said you bought her a ring last Christmas."_

Neville had suddenly looked extremely miserable.

 _"No, Gran and Luna didn't get on very well."_

"I think Neville's grandmother didn't like Luna." Harry told Ron.

"So he broke it off with her? That seems a little harsh. I wasn't going to stop seeing Hermione just cause Mum wasn't thrilled with her."

"Your mum likes Hermione!"

"Not really." Ron mumbled. He seemed to have given up on his eggs and was poking them to death with his fork instead of eating them.

"Is that why Hermione got mad at you?"

"NO!" Ron snapped.

"Then how come…?"

"We are NOT starting that up again!" Ron snuffed the topic out like it was a birthday candle to blow out on a cake.

"Well, I'm guessing Luna must have heard from someone that you and Hermione are no longer. Maybe that's why she's suddenly sniffing at your heels."

"I don't think so." Ron grumbled to himself. Clearly bringing up Hermione had him in a funk already.

"Mate, the girl used to follow you around at school. She laughed at anything you said even if you weren't really trying to make a joke."

"She did?" Ron lifted his eyes to the ceiling in thought. "I don't remember that."

Harry nodded. Ron had probably been too busy snogging Lavender Brown or trying not to fall off a broom during Quidditch practices to notice the dotty Ravenclaw girl. "Maybe try to meet up with her for dinner or something." Harry suggested.

Ron snorted. "Are you out of your mind? The girl's a loon!"

Harry shook his head and sipped at his orange juice. "You're a moron." He told his friend.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever had possessed her to let Malfoy come stay at her house had left her mind that evening.

He had only three things he had to do: get plenty of rest, take his medications and stay out of her way. If he could have handled those three tasks she would have been fine. He couldn't, of course.

"I whole heartedly and absolutely refuse." He declared.

"It's only three pills. If you don't take them you'll never get better. Do you want to play Quidditch again or not?"

"I am not consuming any more of that foul Muggle shite."

"They were helping weren't they? The pills? You said the seizures had diminished while you were staying at the hospital. Antiepilepsy drugs have been used for years. They work!"

"No."

"If they aren't giving you any negative side effects why do you care if they're Muggle or not; as long as they're helping! It's not like they automatically fix you overnight either. It could take weeks for the drugs to take full effect but you'll never know if you don't try."

He was staring down at the little tablets on her dining room table like they were troll boogies.

"No."

"Well, if you don't want to listen to me, fine. I can't force you to take them. Guess you'll have to say goodbye to all your Seeker training."

She was about to leave the table when Malfoy picked up the smallest of the three pills and put it between his teeth. He bit down hard and grimaced before crunching a few more times then gulping down a glass of water.

She batted her eyes a bit and tried to stifle a snort. "You're chewing them!?"

Malfoy looked at her like she had told him that bears shat in the woods. "Of course! I'm not going to suck on them and savor the flavor!"

She couldn't help it. Hermione gasped out a loud cackling laugh that would have made Bellatrix Lestrange proud. Her new housemate seethed.

"You're supposed to swallow them whole, dummy!" She was finally able to stammer. It hadn't occurred to her that of course Draco Malfoy would have no clue how to take Muggle medications. "No wonder you hate taking them so much. They must be horrible tasting. Didn't they show you how to swallow pills?"

"Swallow them whole!?" He lifted a capsule the size of his pinky nail up to her face. "Do you want me to choke to death!?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Muggles swallow pills every day. Put it on the back of your tongue and take a big sip of water."

Malfoy sat up straighter so he towered over her. "It can't be that easy. You're messing with me."

She groaned and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Give me your cup. I'll get you some more water."

He was right, it wasn't that easy. Instead of just swallowing the capsules Malfoy seemed to panic every time the pills had to move down his throat and ended up spitting the half dissolved globs back up onto the table in frantic heaves. She was crying from laughing so hard after his fourth attempt.

"Shut up! It isn't funny!"

"I don't know, Malfoy, I'm pretty sure the polite thing is to swallow, not spit."

His face purpled at her comment. "Excuse me, unlike you I was not raised with such barbaric health care. If they hadn't tried other ways of getting medications into my body I wouldn't believe you that this was necessary."

Hermione buried her face in her arms to silence her laughter after imagining what other techniques they might have used to administer his meds.

"Just keep trying. You want ice cream?"

"If that's your attempt at trying to make the situation better, than no. I prefer better sustenance than ice cream."

She rose and stomped into the kitchen. "Very well, brother dearest, I'll see what I can do."

Her kitchen was woefully neglecting on the sustenance department. After scrounging a bit she was able to dislodge a lumpy loaf of bread, three eggs, and a spoiled carton of milk. Besides the ice cream Hermione didn't keep food at home. Since Ron had always been the cook she had diverged to eating most of her meals at the Ministry cafeteria after he had moved out. She dumped the eggs into a pot of boiling water and levitated out the gallon jar of Snarplelax that she hadn't opened yet.

Malfoy had finally managed to deepthroat and swallow his pills by the time she had the soft boiled eggs ready.

"I'm going shopping tomorrow." She offered as a somewhat apology.

"Good. I don't eat eggs."

She scowled. "As in you can't eat them or you won't eat them?"

"Both. Eggs have too much cholesterol and they upset my digestion."

"Cholesterol? Really? I think that's the most Muggle thing I've heard you say yet. Which is saying something considering the whole hospital thing." She snatched back the plate of eggs she had made for him and started spooning them into her mouth.

He watched her eat for a moment. "You shouldn't be eating them either. Poor diet is the leading cause of death for Muggles."

"What is the matter with you!?" She hollered. Hermione threw her spoon onto her plate and slumped back in her chair while crossing her arms.

"I was just commenting on how it isn't ideal for a woman to only be eating ice cream and eggs."

How dare he! Here she was opening her home up for him and he was insulting her on her diet of all things! With the stress of the War, the ordeal of breaking up with Ron, and her strenuous new job, Hermione had gained a few dress sizes over the past two years. She'd never be huge but she certainly would never be called skinny. Malfoy, in comparison, was as lean and muscular as a Norwegian Ridgeback on muscle growth potions. She doubted he had eaten a mouthful of ice cream since his third year at school.

"WHAT?! Who the fuck taught you manners?!" She bristled. "You never EVER comment on what a woman eats!"

Malfoy's face paled sickeningly. With his hair color it made him look frostbitten. "I wasn't," he swallowed, "that came out wrong, I apologize. I wasn't saying anything about your figure! I just was….uh...what I was trying to say…"

It was strange to see him try to backtrack his words. She couldn't recall a time when she'd seen the haughty Slytherin ashamed of anything.

"I was just trying to warn you about poor eating habits is all. Muggleborns are more prone to heart disease with their unfortunate breeding and such."

Ah, so it wasn't a slight on her weight but on her blood status.

"God dammit, Malfoy! You know what? Forget it. If you're going to treat me like this then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I already am working twelve hour days, I don't deserve to come home and live with a roommate who thinks I'm a filthy Mudblood with heart disease!"

Silence followed her outburst and Hermione swore she saw the man flinch at her language.

"You're right." He barely whispered. "I'm sorry."

He may have been stroking her heartstrings with those giant crystal eyes but there was something genuine about his apology that tickled her. Had she yelled at Ron or Harry like that they would have given it right back to her. Malfoy had crumpled into himself instead.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. It makes me feel like I hit you or something. Look, it's been a really long day and we're both exhausted. If you could eat a little bit it would make me feel better."

He nodded and pointed at the monstrous jar of Snarplelax. "Is that…?"

"Please," she shoved the jar over to him, "take it. I can't stand that stuff."

Snarplelax was the most horrendous food Hermione had ever seen. It was mostly pickled newt limbs and gizzards preserved with mincemeat and something akin to horseradish. It tasted like fruit from a tin that had been burned in the bottom of a cauldron. Purebloods, to her utter bewilderment, gobbled it up like Christmas pie.

"This is imported from Italy!" Malfoy nearly swooned as he turned the jar around and examined the label. "Even my father doesn't have such high quality product at this quantity. Are you sure…?"

"Eat it. I beg of you. The Ministry gave me that as a congratulatory gift when I got promoted. I tried to leave it at the office for Arthur Weasley but he insisted that I keep it."

Malfoy opened the jar like he was opening his first birthday present ever. He pulled a gelatinous newt leg from the sticky muck and popped it into his mouth, cooing over it and licking his fingers. Hermione gagged.

"Speaking of Weasley," He pulled a tail out of the jar to suck on, "what happened to Ronikins? I heard he was living with you."

"Ach gross. How can you eat that shite yet complain about taking three little pills?"

"It's delicious."

"Blech! Ron moved out a few weeks ago. Could you eat it with some toast or something? I have bread."

"No thank you. So you two broke up?"

She paused to scowl at him and to push the eggs away, too disgusted by his newt eating to continue. "That's none of your business."

"I take that as a yes then? Good for you. You're out of his league. Extremely foolish of you to move in with him in the first place."

Hermione didn't know if she should be complemented or insulted. Insulted probably.

"Again, your manners are delightfully terrible."

"Just being honest." He grinned at her while crunching through the bones in the newt tail. "By the way, if they're making you work twelve hour days then you should hire someone to get your groceries and cook for you."

"Like a servant?" She rolled her eyes. "Not all of us are as exceedingly wealthy as you."

He continued to grin at her after fishing out another lump of Snarplelax from the jar with his fingers. "Well, you certainly aren't poor. I don't know many witches your age owning a house this large."

Large house indeed. Her parents had purchased the property when Hermione was six. It was nothing close to Malfoy Manor, but the cozy brick five bedroom tudor was such a treasure, she couldn't give it up after her parents had left for Australia.

"It's my… I inherited the house. And unlike your family I am doing perfectly fine without the need of servants or even house elves."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. My father had a high powered Ministry job at your age and he barely managed to eat lunch everyday let alone clean an entire home. It was a much larger home, to be sure, but still."

"Still, he had house elves." She bantered. "Sorry, you're going to have to suffer here without undyingly loyal kowtowing slaves. I would never own a house elf. And after seeing how your family treated Dobby, I don't think I would trust you with one anyway."

It was a deep hit to smack at him but she had been waiting for years to get some closure on Dobby's behalf. The result wasn't as rewarding as she had expected. Instead of readying herself to scream Malfoy to bits in punishment for the house elf's mistreatment, she was plagued with an uneasy feeling of shame as the blond beside her lost his appetite and closed the lid of the Snarplelax jar. His face looked even more distraught than when she had called him out on his blood status comment earlier.

"How do you know about Dobby?" Malfoy said quietly. His voice had deepened an octave and his eyes flickered as though the room were lit by candlelight.

"Well, that's kind of a long story." She began. Malfoy gestured for her to continue and she sighed and rubbed her temples. It would be just her luck to get a migraine from this. "Dobby warned Harry about the Chamber of Secrets back in second year. He knew that the Chamber was going to be opened because…"

Hermione froze. Did Malfoy know that it was his father that had caused the eventual release of the Basilisk? Did he have any idea that Lucius Malfoy had given Tom Riddle's diary to an eleven year old girl? From the baffled look on his face, she presumed he didn't.

"Because why?"

"Um, I don't know. Elf magic maybe?"

Malfoy raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her but she ignored it.

"So, Dobby tried to prevent Harry from coming to school that year. He followed everything Harry did and sabotaged many of his actions. It got to a point that he became almost infatuated with Harry and, well, Harry became sort of attached to him."

Draco frowned. "Is that why Potter set him free?"

"That was part of it."

 _The other part being that your father's a right arsehat that treated Dobby like crap._ She wanted to say but didn't.

"What happened to him? He belongs to Potter now, right?" Malfoy said, a slight twinge of hope in his tone.

"Um. Well, uh, no actually. He worked at Hogwarts for a bit and then, uh." She felt her face flush and looked away from Malfoy.

"What?"

"Bellatrix threw her knife at Harry when they Apparated away from your house after she tortured me." Hermione managed to blurt it out as fast as possible. Best to get it all out at once. "Dobby blocked the knife with his own body. He didn't make it."

Malfoy's eyes widened to the size of Galleons. He seemed to be looking past her; gazing at something that wasn't there. Hermione guessed he was trying to fight off tears but after a long silence he spoke with easy clarity.

"I see." He took another long sip of water and looked into the glass thoughtfully. "And you're right about what you said before; father was cruel to the house elves. He beat Dobby's mother to death on my eleventh birthday when she burned the cake. I'm pretty sure he killed Dobby's father as well." He said blandly. "Thank you for telling me that. I'm glad Dobby got out." He put the glass back down. "Even if it wasn't for very long."

Hermione stared at him.

 _He beat the house elf to death?_ She fathomed. _Just for burning a cake?_

"Merlin, I'm sorry." She said. Malfoy merely shrugged.

"Well, my father's a horrible person. That shouldn't surprise you. There are reasons why I'm not speaking to him anymore. It bothers me how he didn't end up in Azkaban forever while others who have done far less did."

Her mind scanned a brief image of Sirius Black's gaunt face plastered against the walls of Diagon Alley in his wanted posters. She shuddered.

"I think I will take you up on that ice cream." Malfoy interrupted her thoughts. "Perhaps some clotted dairy products will brighten my mood."

Hermione gave him a sweet but burdened smile. "You can have as much as you like."


	8. Chapter 8

No one would question that Hermione was a workaholic. No one but herself that is. Workaholics enjoyed their careers and while her job wasn't horrible, it certainly wasn't something she looked forward to everyday.

Six days after retrieving Malfoy from the hospital, Hermione was back to the usual drudgery of checking her memos for complaints about Muggles and doing her best to accommodate them.

Today she was burdened with the story of Stella Little. Ms. Little lived behind a Muggle primary school in East Sussex. The woman was distraught that the children kept kicking footballs into her yard which was disturbing her mandrake collection. Hermione was in the middle of writing a polite but stern letter to Ms. Little on how hexing footballs to bite unruly school children was illegal, when she was interrupted by one of her underlings, Arthur Weasley.

"Good morning, Hermione!" Mr. Weasley blossomed into her office like an overstuffed peony. He was extra cheery today with a green and red necktie that sparkled like a decked out Christmas tree. "Don't mean to intrude but I came to tell you about the annual New Year's Ball. With the holidays around the corner we need to start planning these events sooner rather than later."

She tossed her quill down with only a hint of annoyance- Ms. Little's case could wait- and turned her attention to the balding redhead.

Mr. Weasley was always pleasant. Compared to the majority of her coworkers, Ron's father treated her with respect deserved to someone twice her age. Most of the department was not thrilled to work under a twenty year old, but Arthur Weasley was an exception. He was much more intelligent than the Ministry gave him credit for and Hermione was certain the man knew he was more qualified for head of the department than she was. Why they had picked Hermione over him was unknown. Originally she had tried to refuse the promotion in Mr. Weasley's stead but the staffing administration had refused. Her guess being it might have been by Arthur's choice.

After the War, Arthur had become much more forlorn than she remembered. Today, however, he looked to be brimming with delight.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. You look well today."

"Please, dear, you can call me Arthur. I'll probably be your father in-law soon, so you might as well get used to it." He laughed.

"Right, Arthur, you do remember that Ron and I broke up, don't you? You helped him move out."

"Really?" Arthur blinked and gave her a glassy stare that made him look slightly Confunded. "Huh, I'm sorry that must have slipped my mind. Anyways, as I was saying, I'm making sure everyone in the department can make it to the ball on New Year's Eve. It's at Gringotts this year, sure to be a beautiful event. The goblins always put on a good show."

He handed her a decked out invitation card that was complete with gold lettering and glitter.

"Thanks, I'll try to make it. It depends on how busy I am." She answered. It was likely she would have too much work over the holidays although she didn't really feel like going to a ball anyway.

Arthur nodded and turned to make for the door. "Excellent. It's going to be lovely. Oh, by the way," he stopped mid step and circled back around, almost tripping over his shoes in the process, "have you read the paper lately? It looks like Harry made the front page again. Here, I have a copy if you want to see."

He passed her a wrinkled version of _The Daily Prophet_ and Hermione grimaced when she saw the blown up photo of her friend's face that was cropped ever so carefully to frame the scar on his forehead.

 _Boy Who Lives Saves Day Again!_

 _London: Mr. Potter has kept a low profile since the end of the Second Wizarding War, but it appears that The Chosen One has trouble staying away from dangerous situations. Early Friday morning, our sources report that Mr. Potter was seen pulling a woman to safety out of a burning building. Francine Gimble, 63, is a Squib oboe instructor for the Muggle education system. She was preparing her breakfast Friday morning when her house exploded in what the Ministry has deemed a non-magical gas leak. Thankfully, Mr. Potter and a team of Aurors were on the scene ready to pull the woman to safety. Ms. Gimble is currently at St. Mungo's with non life threatening injuries. Her twin sister Fiona Franks, also a Squib, was available for comment:_

 _"Had Harry Potter not been there I'm certain she would have died. Franny can't use magic, being a Squib and all, so we were incredibly lucky that the Aurors arrived in time. "_

 _Mrs. Franks and her husband, Lawrence, are staying with their sister at St. Mungo's. The healers estimate that Ms. Gimble will make a full recovery soon._

It was little more than a fluff piece. _The Prophet_ had taken a sharp turn since the War that had the paper flooded with feel good blurbs and gossip. Hermione assumed that the wizarding community preferred to believe that everything was hunky dory instead of actually knowing the news. Case in point: under the article about Harry's rescue mission was a large photo of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy holding their two year old daughter who was giggling and waving at the camera. Isabella Malfoy, bubbling toddler and darling of the Ministry, already was blessed with an article in the paper. With her mother's face and her father's elegant blond locks that curled, the adorable baby had warmed the cold aftermath that followed the Death Eater family from the War.

 _The Prophet_ wasted no time detailing the little girl's first trip to Diagon Alley, but not a word was given to mention the Malfoy's older son who was still supposedly missing. Though it seemed like the Malfoy's were using their baby's charms to bump them up to perfect wizarding status again, she guessed they probably weren't delighted that Draco's disappearance was unknown to the public. No one could technically find him if they didn't know to look.

She put it in mind to talk to Draco about his little sister. It was odd that he hadn't brought it up yet. She would also have to talk to Harry about this savior complex he had.

"Poor Harry. He'll be on the front page at least once a year for the rest of his life." Hermione grumbled while handing the paper back to Arthur.

Arthur sighed. "It's a shame really. He deserves to be left alone if he wants to be. Anyhow, it was good to see you, as always. Oh, and let Ron know that Ginny won't be able to make it for Christmas. She has a game on Boxing Day."

Hermione frowned. "Um, we aren't going to be having Christmas at my house this year."

"Oh really? Why ever not?"

"Well, since Ron and I broke up we figured it would be better to have it at the Burrow like we used to."

"You broke up?! Merlin, when did that happen?"

She blinked at him. Mr. Weasley was looking a little fuzzy around the edges. His clothing was nicer and more elegant than his usual tattered robes, but he had let his beard grow in on only one side of his face and there were parts of his breakfast still stuck to his upper lip.

"About two months ago. Are you feeling alright, Arthur? I just told you Ron and I broke up, remember?"

"You did?" He tilted his head a bit and widened his eyes in an empty gaze. She was reminded of how Ron used to look on the few occasions they had watched television together.

"Um, yes, I did. Maybe you should go sit down for a while. You're looking a little off."

He shook his head in a sudden little tremor as if to help clear water out of his ears. "I'm fine, not to worry. Sorry to hear about you and Ron. Molly is going to be upset."

Hermione didn't want to tell him that Molly Weasley already knew about the breakup. From what Hermione had gathered from Ginny, the woman was not upset at all by the news. She was also pretty certain he had been present for his wife's lecture on how Ron could do so much better than that swotty, bossy, and disrespectful girl. Ginny said Arthur had stood up for Hermione which had earned him the silent treatment from his wife for a good week or so.

"How about I walk with you to your office?" She suggested. He attempted to wave her away as she rose from her desk and tried to offer him her arm.

"Stop it. I said I was fine."

She followed him anyways, only stopping to glance at Theodore Nott on the way out. Nott barely ever spoke more than he had to and today was no exception. He returned her look for a brief moment before ignoring her completely and returning to his work.

They made their way to Arthur Weasley's office where he shooed her away at the door.

"Hermione, you worry too much. I'll be alright, I promise."

He sounded way too much like Ron which instantly wired her up to argue with him. She didn't get the chance since he shoved the door closed once he was done talking.

Back in her own office, Hermione pondered Mr. Weasley's behavior for a good forty five minutes while trying to concentrate on her work. She was seriously considering talking to Ron about it when Nott burst into the room like a battering ram.

"Ms. Granger, could I borrow a moment of your time?"

Hermione was scribbling one last paragraph of her letter. "Not now, Theodore."

"It really is rather important. We need to head downstairs."

She frowned but didn't look up from her parchment. "Why?"

Nott didn't answer her. Instead he pulled out his wand and started shooting shielding charms at the windows.

"What are you doing?" She asked, realizing it was the beginning of a very strange day. "Is something wrong?"

He was shivering. "We have to leave."

Yes, something was definitely wrong. Of course her soft spoken office assistant wasn't going to say what it was. "I have to finish this first. One minute." She answered.

"There isn't time, Ms. Granger!" He finished whatever he had done to the windows, a pointless task since the Ministry was underground and the windows were false, and hovered beside her desk.

"Alright, let me get my cloak and…"

"No, NOW, Hermione!" His hand clamped about her wrist and he dragged her out of the office and into the hallway.

People were rushing in every direction between the sounds of far off screams and muffled crying. An Auror she didn't recognize told them to head to the lift and take it to the lowest level. She paused to ask him what was going on but Nott already had her hauled off towards the lobby.

There was a queue of people shoving one another like a mosh pit in a rush to enter the lifts. The crowd in front nearly trampled a witch if a frazzled Auror hadn't levitated three people to stop them.

"Everyone please stay calm! There is plenty of room for everybody. Staying in an orderly fashion will get everyone into the shelters quicker."

"Shelters?" Hermione stood on tiptoe to see over the mob. A group of three Aurors were trying to herd people into the lifts as best as they could without anyone getting hurt. One Ministry official shoved a woman out of his way to get ahead of her. The alteration had resulted in a fit of screams and punches. Hermione was about to push her way through to help the woman when Nott grabbed her again and yanked her in the other direction.

"The Aurors will take care of it. Come on, we can take the staircase."

She wanted to question him about what was going on but between the hoards of people and the deafening noise she couldn't.

The staircases were abandoned in comparison to the hallway. She pondered why the Aurors were so insistent on the lifts until she realized they needed to descend fifteen floors. All the way down they sprinted and Hermione ended in the lead. Nott was pale and panting behind her; looking like he'd lose his breakfast on the next landing.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He lied. "The shelters are through here."

He stumbled through the doors of the stairwell and down a congested corridor that was just as crowded as the lobby with panicked noisy people.

"HERMIONE!" A familiar voice echoed over the commotion. Harry's figure emerged from her left and he pulled her toward him. "Thank Merlin! We need to get into one of the bomb shelters immediately! Follow me."

"BOMB SHELTERS! They have bomb shelters here!?"

"Crazy, right?" He responded. "The Ministry had them built during World War II. This way."

He forced his way through another throng of nervous people and down a snaking passageway. They were lead into a stuffy small marble walled room that was crammed with wooden folding chairs. So far there were only two other people there.

"Sit down." Harry told her. "I'll be back as soon as it calms down out there."

"Wait! Harry, what's going on?"

He gave her an irritated groan. "Hell if I know? You think they bother telling me anything? Ha! Not a chance. Stay put. If I'm not back again soon someone should be by to get you food and blankets if necessary. I doubt we'll be here that long, so don't worry."

"Famous last words." Said one of the two people in the room. Hermione recognized her as Penelope Clearwater, Percy's ex girlfriend. "Best get comfortable. Last time this happened we were here for almost sixteen hours."

"Last time?" She moved to sit next to her after Harry left and Theodore collapsed into another chair.

Clearwater blanched. "Um, that was during the Battle at Hogwarts. Sorry, I didn't see it was you until you sat down."

Hermione rolled her eyes. The woman didn't need to apologize for being locked up safe and sound beneath the Ministry during the Battle. "You think there's something that serious going on?" She asked.

Penelope exchanged a pained glance with the young man she had been sitting with before responding. "For the Ministry to order a lockdown of the entire building? Yeah, I would guess so."

Her heart was instantly a clattering cowbell between her lungs after hearing that said.

"Fuck." Hermione mumbled.

Harry was back a few minutes later with Ron behind him.

"Everything's going to be fine." He told them while sitting down. Ron was busy sealing the heavy steel doors that clanked shut like a bank vault. "We've managed to get everyone into their shelters and the building is completely closed off. The Floo networks have been shut down and Kingsley has full trained Aurors at all the entrances."

"Still don't know what's going on?" Hermione piped.

"Nope." He chided.

"Welcome to the club." The boy next to Penelope chimed in. "The under thirty club, that is. They don't tell us anything."

"Hey," Ron had finished with the door and was talking. "What's wrong with him?" He gestured to Nott who was quivering uncontrollably. Hermione barely managed to jump out of her chair in time to catch her assistant before he fell from his seat.

Over the past few minutes Theodore's complexion had morphed from sickly pale to flushed crimson. With his arms and legs pulled tight against his chest and his head bent in a jarring angle, one would think his joints had solidified. He shook as if he were a boiling tea kettle; his face contorted like he was holding back from screaming.

She tried to hold him in his chair but when that proved to be impossible Harry helped her gently settle the spasming Slytherin onto the floor.

"Nott, what happened? Did someone curse you?" Harry questioned the man but Theodore either couldn't hear him or couldn't respond. "Why is he acting like this? Hermione?"

Harry had wrapped his arms around the taller man's knees as he had started to kick. Hermione had to support his shoulders.

"I don't know! He was acting strange before but nothing like this."

The others in the room gawked at the display. It wasn't long before Nott was hyperventilating through his nose as he seemed determined to keep his jaws clenched shut. Hermione felt the tremors of pain coursing through his body. Even with his eyes cemented closed he had long tears gushing down his face. His hair was wet from sweat.

"A little help here, Ron!" Harry snapped at his friend. Ron, however, didn't move. It didn't appear to be out of disrespect or hate for Nott, but from fear. He was a statue of panic.

"He looks like he's being Crucio'd." Ron mumbled what they were all thinking but couldn't say aloud. "Worse than being Crucio'd."

"Are you mental? Go get help!" Harry gestured to the door with his head.

"But, we're on lockdown…"

"Ron!" Harry bellowed through his teeth. "He's dying, Ron! Go!"

At that announcement Ron finally got his brain back together, unsealed the door and scurried into the hall before resealing it again.

"He's _dying_?" Hermione stated. She met Harry's grim stare and shuddered. Instead of gripping Nott's shoulders she shifted so he rested in her arms with his back against her chest and her chin upon his head. "Dammit! Why did we take the stairs!? I should have realized.."

"And had him pass out in the lift instead?" Harry said. "I don't think so."

Penelope and her coworker had joined them on the floor in the few monstrously long minutes they waited for Ron to return. The other woman transfigured a glove into a damp cloth that she draped over Nott's eyes.

"I wish we knew what we were doing." She sighed while the damp cloth did almost nothing for Theodore. Hermione watched hopelessly as Penelope reached to hold Nott's hand but couldn't because he'd had it clawed up too tight. "Perhaps we should stun him?"

Harry shook his head. "If it's a malicious curse that could make him go into shock. However, I'm beginning to think that may already be happeni... God, his nose is bleeding! Penelope, switch places with me. I should check his pupils."

"What for!?" Hermione barked rather rudely. Penelope and Harry crawled over each other to move around the crowded space.

"If one eye dilates more than the other then he may have a concussion." Harry answered matter a factly. He was prying one of Nott's eyes open and flashing his lit wand over the man's face.

"I know that!" She snapped. "Harry, if it were just a concussion he wouldn't be having a severe breakdown on the floor! Dammit," she pushed Harry's fingers out of Nott's eyeball, "knock it off!"

"Well, what else am I going to do?! Sit here and watch him die?! "

"I don't know, maybe go find out why Ron's taking his sweet bleeding time to get back here?!"

As if on cue, Ron pounded into the room with a disheveled looking Auror with giant eyebrows. Hermione vaguely recognized him as Robards, the head of the Auror department.

"Who the fuck put the Nott boy in here alone!?" Robards scowled. "Potter, move out of my way."

"He's not alone!" Harry growled back. "We've been here…"

"I said MOVE, Potter!"

Harry moved.

Robards nearly stampeded into Nott in his rush to kneel beside him. His stubby hands pried Nott's arms away from his body so quickly a bone may have been broken. He ripped the right sleeve up to the elbow, causing the gold cuff links Nott wore to pop across the room. At first she thought he was taking his pulse. Then she saw the Dark Mark.

Everyone gasped when the Mark was exposed except for Robards who visibly snarled. The snake and skull looked to be cut deeply into the soft skin; almost down to the muscle. But instead of red tissue beneath, the Mark oozed a black tarry substance like burned cinder.

"You see this, Potter." He bellowed in a baritone too deep for a man of his short stature. "This is why we don't leave him alone during a lockdown!"

Harry tried to grumble something that sounded like ' _didn't know he was marked.'_

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Robards screamed into Harry face. Harry jumped and she felt Nott cringe and twist from the loud sound. "You _always_ know who is Marked! There is only one other individual in the building of similar standing and you bet your sorry arse that I know exactly where he is." Robards snapped then turned his attention across the room. "Weasley!"

Ron shuddered as though the older Auror were accusing him of being the other Death Eater.

"Go fetch Lucius Malfoy. He's in the twenty third shelter with the others from the Department of Mysteries. If he's in," he nudged Nott with his foot, "a similar predicament as this one, report to one of the men on door guard."

"Sir…?" Ron looked close to sobbing.

"Now, boy! Potter, go with him."

Thankfully Harry and Ron didn't stay and argue with the man. They hurried from the room like terrified rabbits escaping a hungry wolf.

It was also thankful that they returned rather quickly with Malfoy senior leading them.

Hermione had forgotten the presence Lucius Malfoy commanded when entering a room. Unlike his son, Mr. Malfoy carried himself with a proud and determined air that reminded her a bit of how Dumbledore would capture the eyes of the entire great hall by simply standing up. With his long black robes, ivory walking stick, and billowing albino blond locks, the man was a powerful figure.

Therefore it made the situation even more terrifying when Lucius Malfoy crumpled to his knees like a wounded fawn upon seeing Theodore on the floor.

"NO!" He tripped over Penelope and deposited himself beside Hermione, cradling Nott's Marked arm in his hands. "Theo, son, it's alright. Hang on."

Robards was as speechless as the rest of them. His eyes flickered once to Harry and Ron and a third Auror they must have found on the way there. After a moment of watching Malfoy mop up the black ooze on Nott's forearm with the transfigured glove, Robards cleared his throat.

"Right, Malfoy," he took a step closer and leaned in to examine the interaction, "got any idea what's going on here? I'm thinking your arm isn't bleeding black crud as well?"

Malfoy bared his own forearm to show the same tattoo. Where Nott's mark was fresh and dark, Malfoy's was a faded grey color that resembled an aged Muggle tattoo.

"No." Mr. Malfoy said softly. "Did any of you think of taking this heavy cloak off of him? He's overheating." He lifted Theodore toward him and started removing his winter cloak.

"Malfoy, what's going on?" Robards snapped.

"He's being summoned and he's refusing it. Or, he would be, were the Dark Lord still alive. This," Malfoy gave a sigh and shook his head, "this isn't good."

"Have you ever seen it escalate this quickly?" Robards asked.

"No. Never. Not even close." He threw Nott's cloak and robe aside leaving the man in his white button up undershirt. "Ms. Granger, support his back for me please." Mr. Malfoy removed his wand that doubled as a handle to his walking stick and stunned Theodore with a quiet _Stupify._

She had thought she already was holding him up completely until Nott collapsed into her, his body finally relaxing with a loud sigh. Not expecting his weight to crash down on her that suddenly, Hermione let out a startled cry before positioning herself to hold him easier. It occurred to her then how much force he had been exerting in order to simply hold himself up.

A woosh of movement followed Nott's collapse when Malfoy rose instantaneously and pinned Robards against the opposite wall with his fists. Several chairs were smashed against the Auror's body in his forced path between Malfoy and the wall.

"HOW DARE YOU?" Mr. Malfoy cried. "How long were you planning on leaving him like that?!"

"I needed to make sure that…" Robards attempted to explain himself but was cut off by Malfoy's knee colliding into his groin.

"You didn't need me here to stun him!" He continued. "If you had waited much longer he would have died of a heart attack! The boy's pulse was through the roof, no thanks to you and your loud voice. I'm sure you were yelling at him the entire time!"

Robards was able to continue standing partially because Mr. Malfoy was holding him up. The blond wizard was nearly a head taller and a good twenty years younger than the Auror. Even so, Robards still managed to bicker.

"But you didn't stun him right away, did you, Malfoy? He could have died just as quickly." He grumbled through a choked gasp.

Mr. Malfoy responded by shoving his entire body weight through his knee into Robards' privates again. This elicited a sharp curse word and a hiss.

"You were planning on letting him suffer, weren't you?! You cunt!" If possible, he slammed himself even harder against the older man's body. "Why haven't you found my son yet?!"

The switch in topic didn't phase Robards.

"Worried that Draco is undergoing the same situation?" Robards spit a bloody dollop onto Mr. Malfoy's shoe. He must have bitten his tongue during the commotion. "I wouldn't be too concerned if I were you."

"YOU…..!"

"Keep in mind that the kid was gone for five weeks without anyone noticing. Not even you. Usually someone who manages to be missing that long without a trace is trying very hard to stay missing." He managed a smile that bared his red stained teeth. "I don't think you'll be hearing from your son any time soon."

Lucius Malfoy stared at him for at least another minute, calming himself so as not to hurt the Auror more than he already had. Hermione reasoned that were Malfoy to raise a hand or his wand to this man he may end up in Azkaban again.

"You're not even trying to look for him?!" He finally stuttered out.

"Don't insult me." Robards managed to shove the Death Eater off of him. "Of course we're looking for him."

Malfoy almost lost himself in fury again but this time Harry, Ron and the other Auror had their wands pointed at him. Noticing that he was outnumbered, Mr. Malfoy took a step back.

"Just find him!" He snarled. "Now, I'll take Theodore with me…"

"Mr. Nott will remain here until the Minister has given the all clear."

Malfoy looked like Robards had told him to go fuck a pigeon. His eyes bulged and his mouth thinned into a slit of a frown.

"That's ridiculous! He needs to go to the hospital!"

"He'll have to wait until…" Robards started when Harry interrupted him.

"Sir, if Nott ends up dying because you wouldn't let him go to the hospital, I'm pretty sure Shacklebolt will have you sacked."

Ron and the other Auror gaped at Harry. It appeared that he had an issue with keeping his opinions in check around his boss.

"Potter," Robards' voice had lowered to that deep octave again that made Hermione's ear drums throb,"not only is Nott being summoned by what could be a copycat You Know Who, but the Ministry is under lockdown because a Dark Mark was cast over King's Cross no more than half an hour ago."

Everyone froze. Even Lucius Malfoy seemed startled by that statement as he blinked wide eyed at Robards.

Hermione was the one to speak first.. "The train station?!"

"A Dark Mark?" Ron mouthed, his face a dull grey color.

"You heard me." Robards cautioned. "I think Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will be staying here to keep an eye on the Nott boy. As for you, Malfoy," he pointed at the door, "Liam and myself will walk you back to your shelter."

Nothing else was said as Robards and Liam, the extra Auror, escorted Mr. Malfoy away. Hermione instinctively huddled Theodore closer to her while Harry sat beside her. He delicately took Nott's wrist in his hand, forearm facing upwards, so he could look at the still oozing Dark Mark and cringe.

"How's his pulse now?" She asked him while Harry took the damp cloth up again to soak the snake tattoo.

He frowned while using one hand to probe his index and middle finger into the nook beneath Nott's thumb. "Still pretty fast but not life threatening, I think."

They all waited in silence as Hermione kept dampening the cloth with a humidifying charm and Harry kept tabs on Nott's heart rate. After an hour his breathing and pulse returned to normal but they kept him stunned since his arm was still bleeding black and possibly causing him pain.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Ron stated from his chair by the door. "You know, the whole Dark Mark being cast thing. Anyone else freaking out about that? Harry? You alright, mate?" Ron leaned forward to make eye contact with his friend. "Your scar feeling anything?"

Harry rubbed at his forehead like he suddenly was checking if the scar was still there. "I'm fine."

"Right." Ron gave Hermione a nervous glance. "How are you doing, Hermione?"

She knew he was just being a concerned friend but she still bristled from his acknowledgement. "Oh I'm just peachy, Ronald. Never been better, in fact."

Ron sneered. "Look, I was trying to be nice and all but if…"

"Stop." Harry interrupted. "No fighting."

"I wasn't…."

"Ron, shut your mouth. Now is not the time!"

"I find it hard to believe that you three were at each other's throats so much back when you were saving the world." Penelope Clearwater joined the conversation. She was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed as she sat on Harry's other side.

Hermione snorted a dry laugh. "You'd be surprised."

"Since you all have the experience of dealing with stressful and dark magic related events, maybe you could put your heads together on what's going on instead of arguing." She glanced between the three of them and idly scratched her nose.

When none of them said anything, Clearwater sighed and began to hypothesize.

"So, I'm thinking it's awfully strange that Malfoy's son has been missing for so long. I thought that family was pretty close knit."

Harry pondered her comment while Ron immediately fired back with another assumption.

"I bet Malfoy set the Dark Mark off!" He shouted. "Maybe he's the one summoning Nott."

"Oh please." Hermione snubbed his comment. "Why would he put his best friend in so much pain?"

"Well, if Nott didn't know it was Malfoy that would explain him panicking so much and going into shock. Malfoy wouldn't have expected Nott to refuse the summoning."

Harry frowned. "Don't the Marks only work one way? I thought only Voldemort could summon people and they could only summon him."

Hermione nodded in agreement but Ron wasn't convinced.

"Malfoy could have altered the charm so he could be the summoner!"

"Come off it, Ron! Malfoy isn't going to be able to undo a Dark Mark charm! That's a blood magic ritual." Hermione barked. She tried not to think about Malfoy alone in her home possibly in a puddle of his own black blood that had weeped from his forearm.

"But clearly someone did it." Harry spoke softly then. He lifted the cloth over Nott's Dark Mark for a moment to examine it again. It was still seeping. "We killed all the horcruxes. He can't cheat death again!"

"Horcruxes?" Penelope asked. It was an empty question that she hopefully realized wouldn't get an answer.

Hermione watched Nott shudder from something only he could feel. Instead of overheating he seemed to be plummeting in body temperature. She made Harry toss her the winter cloak back and draped it over him.

 _Malfoy's dead_. Her mind raced. You left him to die all alone. _There's no way he could have survived this if he refused the summoning too._

She wiped at her face, trying to force the threatening tears to disperse.

"I have to go." She started to untangle her limbs from Nott.

"What?" Harry asked her. "Go where?"

"I just need to go. I can't stay here." She stood and made her way to the door only to find Ron was blocking her exit. "Move, Ron!"

"No." He pulled himself taller so he looked down at her.

"Ron, I have to…"

"You can't go, Hermione."

"But I…"

"No, you literally cannot leave the building. When they say lockdown they mean it. How do you plan on leaving anyways? The Floos are shut down and the entrances are guarded. You can't Apparate out of the Ministry."

The tears broke through. She wailed and Ron stared at her. He looked to be torn between shoving her back to the floor and embracing her. The alternative to both was to continue to stand before her like a rock. That was the choice he preferred, it seemed.

And though she believed she'd be trapped there for hours, sobbing like a banshee in front of her ex boyfriend, she couldn't get herself to stop. Not when Harry put an arm around her shoulder, not when Penelope ordered Ron to sit down, not even when Liam returned from wherever he had gone to tell them the all clear had been announced.

Eventually she must have calmed down because her face had dried by the time she had climbed the staircase at full speed and made it to her office to retrieve her cloak and bag. Later she would wonder if Theodore Nott ever made it to the hospital but at the time her concerns were focused on another Slytherin she knew.

Hermione Flooed to her Muggle household before anyone else at the Ministry had even exited their bomb shelters. She prayed to whatever religious being she could think of that she wouldn't be coming home to a dead Death Eater.


	9. Chapter 9

A flutter of the stomach. A lopsided grin. A faint smell of stomach acid on her breath. The stickiness of her red wine from dinner plastered onto his neck as she kissed the bruises that had started to swell.

"I hadn't realized you cared so much for your nephew's wellbeing."

Draco had wanted to shove her. Wanted to hurl and cry and grab his aunt by the hair and lash her eyeballs out with his thumbs.

Across the room, Pettigrew had his wand at his mother's throat, daring her to move while his father sat motionless beside her.

"You owe me, Cissa!"

The words were flung across the dining room like shrapnel. Bellatrix drew a long yellow fingernail through Draco's hair.

"I saved him. You owe me!"

That moment. _That_ had been when Draco had his first seizure.

When he awoke later he was in his parents bed huddled close between them. He was still wearing the robes he had vomited in earlier. Even if they had been scourgified they still stunk.

He couldn't remember the last time his father had held him. Deep down he had believed it would never occur again, yet when Draco stirred from his slumber, Lucius wrapped his arms around his son and settled a long kiss on his forehead. The small gesture had his father in tears by the time Narcissa woke up.

"Thank Merlin!" She sobbed and joined them in the embrace. It was a touching moment albeit a painful one.

 _They thought I was dying._ He realized in horror. _They believed I wouldn't make it through the night._

The embrace and the silence that it shared ended soon. His mother caressed his back while she spoke; a soft but solid tone in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"I should tell you," her breath was warm against his ear, "I'm pregnant."

"WHAT!?" His father broke the tender moment and sat up to look down at her as she continued to cradle Draco in her arms. Draco was still too exhausted from dinner-if you could call that monstrosity in the dining room dinner- to even turn over to look his mother in the face.

"I'm due in April." He could tell she was smiling even if he couldn't see her. "Isn't it wonderful?!"

"NO!" Lucius reached over to solidify his mother's shoulders in his hands. "No, Narcissa no!"

"What do you mean, no?" Her tone had that iciness she used on rare occasions when his father had gone too far. Draco braced himself for the worst.

"We can barely keep one child alive in this mess! Do you really think we can handle another?! And an infant at that?"

She sat up to face him, one hand still on Draco's back though it seemed he wasn't a part of the conversation. He found he was good with that.

"So, you would have me get rid of it?!" She bellowed at her husband.

"I would have you do what is right!"

The silence that followed that statement made him want to leave the room.

"You don't mean that." She almost growled and Draco blanched as his father cowered beside him.

"Darling, it's just….it isn't safe! Not for the baby, not for you…"

"You didn't say that last time."

"Last time!" Lucius regained some of his courage. "Last time was seventeen years ago! And I seem to remember it wasn't a bundle of roses last time either!"

Draco recalled the stories of his birth. How his mother had labored for over seventy hours and had almost died of blood loss. The midwife had blamed the stress of the first war. His mother had blamed herself. They had been lucky that Draco was a healthy baby. They were lucky she had lived. If they wanted to stay lucky, the midwife had warned, they would not let his mother get pregnant again.

His father had not taken it well. He doted on his wife during the day and had cried himself hoarse at night. He had made offerings to fertility emblems and had brewed every potion available. He watched the Weasleys in distaste for years and their ever growing brood of gingers.

Draco knew they hadn't listened to the midwife. His parents had been young and desperate but after a third miscarriage, they had given up on the chance of having more children. Draco was a miracle, even if he would be their only miracle.

"The risk is too much." His father sighed. "I couldn't bare to lose you. Not for a baby that isn't even alive yet!"

Narcissa laid back in the bed. After a few minutes his father must have realized that the discussion was over and laid down as well. Draco knew better than to bring up anything else, although he itched to know what had happened to the Lovegood girl. Something told him it was better if he didn't know. They were nearly asleep when his mother whispered again.

"It's a girl." She almost sang.

The memory of that night flitted over his mind's eye like moth wings in moonlight. Had he known the outcome then could he have stopped his mother from doing what she did?

Possibly. But dwelling in the past would kill him. Remembering it all would kill him.

The cool smoothness of the tile wall against his back helped settle his mood a tad. He couldn't recall getting in the shower but the hot water was pleasant. If he fell asleep on the floor it wasn't like anyone would notice or care. He allowed his head to droop and let the water rush over his skin as he dozed.

 _Malfoy!_

A faint voice echoed through his subconscious.

 _Malfoy, wake up!_

Who was yelling at him at this hour? Couldn't they tell he was sleeping?

"Draco!"

Hands slapped his cheeks and there was a sudden coldness from the water being shut off. He opened his eyes and squinted at the face above his, wincing from the bright bathroom light.

Hermione Granger looked like she had been crying her eyes out for decades. He blinked at her for a second and tried to place how the Gryffindor had gotten in his bathroom when his memories flooded back to him.

 _This was her bathroom._

"Fuck!" He sat up too quickly, colliding his skull into hers with a loud crack. They both howled from the hit and retracted from each other to sooth their pounding heads. She recovered first, pulling her body over him again to shade his face from the light.

"Are you alright!? I tried to get home as soon as I could but I was scared I got here too late! They had the Ministry on lockdown and it was almost impossible to get out of there!"

He rubbed his forehead where she had collided with him. "What the hell, Granger?!"

"There was a Dark Mark cast and Nott was… YOUR ARM!""

"Huh?"

She snatched his right arm from the bottom of the tub and held the Mark that had been tattooed there to her face.

"It's fine." She released a heavy held breath. "Thank Merlin, it's fine. You're okay!" She brushed her fingertips over the faded tattoo and he cringed from her touch. He suddenly realized how close she was sitting to him and how stark naked he was.

"What's wrong with you!? Get out!"

She ignored his rage. "Did you pass out in the shower?"

"I...I don't remember." He glared at her. "If you aren't going to leave could you atleast hand me a towel?"

She stood to remove a fluffy pink bath towel from the cabinet beneath the sink and draped it over him. "You had another seizure, didn't you?"

Why couldn't she just leave? Instead of being a normal person and giving him some privacy, Granger moved even closer to him.

"Do you have any sense of personal space?"

"Malfoy, did you have a seizure?"

He honestly couldn't recall. She watched him try to remember the last few hours and furrowed a worried brow.

"They're getting worse." She mumbled and tried to reach for his arm again but he pulled away. "It must have something to do with the Dark Mark. Did you have any reaction at all?"

Her tone scared him. "Reaction to what? What are you talking about?"

She sunk a bit on her knees and rubbed her temples. "Nott almost died today. He was being summoned by his Dark Mark and went into shock because he refused the summoning."

Draco gaped at her. "WHAT!?"

"It was terrible. His arm was dripping this black liquid and your father had to stun him so his heart rate would slow down." She paused to take a breath. "Then we found out that a Dark Mark was cast over King's Cross."

She went into detail about the past hour or so at the Ministry. It sounded like it had been a nasty ordeal for everyone involved.

"Wait, is Theo going to be alright?" He interrupted he on her rant about the git who ran the Auror department.

"I.." she looked at him sheepishly, "I think so. To be honest I left in rush. I'm pretty sure Harry was going to take him to St. Mungo's."

Great. So Theo's life was in the hands of Potter.

"You have to go check on him!" He reached over the tub to grab her shoulders. "Potter's an idiot! He'll probably take him to the wrong healers!"

She chose that second to finally blush at Draco's nudity. He quickly removed his hands.

"Um…" Clearly trying to look anywhere except at him, Granger started twiddling her hair through her fingers. "I mean, Harry probably won't take him there by himself. Your father will probably take Nott in if they didn't arrest him."

"Arrest him! Merlin, what did he do now?!"

"Well," The hair twirling thing was getting annoying. He half wanted to grab her hands to stop it but then she would blush even more. "He sort of attacked Robards."

"The head Auror?" Draco swore under his breath. "What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Um, he kind of shoved him into a wall and kicked him in the crotch a few times."

Obviously there was no 'kind of' needed. His father had for certain attacked an Auror during a Ministry lockdown.

 _Idiot._

"I'm thinking they'll give him the benefit of the doubt." Granger continued. "He was pretty hysterical about Nott and from what I can tell he had a good reason to be upset. Robards did almost let the man die on the floor. Although," she almost yanked the clump of hair out that she had in her fingers, "that was sort of our fault too. We could have stunned Theodore long before it had gotten to that point."

Draco seethed at her. "Which is why you are going to go to the hospital and find him!"

Her expression sharpened into hatefulness. "Or you could go yourself! You're the one with the Dark Mark experience and he's your friend."

If only he could go. He would give anything to make sure Theo was alright. And now there was someone summoning Death Eaters; summoning Theo in particular.

"You know I can't do that."

"Fine. Stay under your rock." She rose off the floor and brushed herself off. "I was really worried about you, you know. Thought you had died in the shower." She gave him a sad look. "Get dressed, Malfoy. I have to get back to work so try to keep from having any more epileptic attacks while I'm gone."


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione's sudden departure from the shelter was startling and strange but Harry didn't get a moment to think about it.

"Potter, Robards wants you and I to escort Nott to St. Mungo's. Weasley, they need you to help sort people back to their departments." Liam Thorps, the other Auror trainee, announced. He was perhaps only five years older than them but acted like he was in his mid forties.

Ron looked confused. "Why does Harry have to go?"

"Probably because he was here for the entire time Nott was acting up. I wouldn't know for sure though."

Liam shrugged like Ron had questioned him about what he had for breakfast before levitating Nott out of Penelope Clearwater's grasp and out the door. Harry threw Ron a puzzled look over his shoulder and followed the other Auror.

There weren't any people crowding the halls yet as the announcement had been given to repopulate the building slowly, one bomb shelter at a time. Liam and Harry only received a few odd looks as they trailed Nott's hovering body with their wands out. Liam had to hold Nott under the arms and Harry had to throw the powder into the fireplace for him in order to Floo the Slytherin to the hospital. For Nott's sake, Harry was glad they kept him stunned and that no one was around. The ordeal would have been terribly embarrassing otherwise.

The mediwizards at the hospital must have already known they were coming. Three of them grabbed Nott out of Liam's arms as soon as they stepped into the entrance room and toted the Death Eater away on a stretcher.

"We should stay here for a bit in case they need us." Liam gestured to the waiting room chairs and they both sat down.

'A bit' turned out to be two hours. Harry was trying to entertain himself with an outdated edition of _Witch Weekly_ while Liam dozed. He was reading the same sentence for a third time about the best spells to use for cleaning under furniture when a healer came to tell them they were needed in Nott's hospital room.

"Is he doing alright?" Harry threw the magazine aside in an instant.

The healer looked distraught. She glanced between Liam and Harry like she clearly wanted to tell them something but couldn't.

"What happened!?"

"Best for you to come with me now, sir. You should see for yourself."

Nott's hospital room was in the department for dark curses and severe hexes. They had quarantined the young man in a chamber far down the hall from the other rooms in the ward. It was a single patient room, something Harry knew to be a rarity for the magical hospital. When he saw three full trained Aurors standing guard on the door Harry started to understand why the healer had looked so anxious.

The men ushered Harry and Liam inside with barely a word and slammed the door shut behind them. Strange as that was it had nothing on what Harry witnessed as soon as he crossed into the chamber.

Even at half past noon, the room was stiflingly dark. The curtains had been drawn over the picture windows and only one small oil lamp was lit on the bedside table, emitting a yellow flickering glow.

"Ah, Mr. Potter and Mr. Thorps. Good of you to come. Please sit down." A cool female voice tumbled over the space. Harry didn't recognize the middle aged witch with dark hair who sat beside Theodore Nott's bed. He did recognize Gawain Robards who sat beside the woman, a seriously annoyed face gracing his appearance.

Theodore Nott was no longer unconscious. That didn't mean he was entirely with it. The brown haired man blinked at Harry and Liam and seemed to have trouble seeing them. His blue eyes passed over them unfocused and he swayed slightly in his seated position on the bed.

As Harry's own eyes began to adjust to the darkness he began to see things that further increased his unease about the situation. For one, the vial of clear potion the woman held that Harry was positive contained Veritaserum. Second, Robards had his wand out and ready in case the half conscious man who had almost died two hours ago would suddenly spring into attack. Finally, the faint glint of something metallic encircling Nott's wrists. A step closer to the bed had him confirming that they had handcuffed Theodore to the bedposts, the shiny iron chafing against his newly bandaged forearm which contained a large dark splotch from the oozing wound.

"What are you doing to him?" Harry calmly asked his boss. Robards sneered at Harry and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a jumble of words that broke forth from Theodore.

Nott spoke quickly and garbled. Harry immediately remembered the side effects of the truth potion. A person would answer questions automatically with no filter. In this case Nott seemed unable to make coherent sentences most likely due to the trauma he had been in.

"We are attempting to question him about what happened." The woman put in when there was a break in Nott's rambling. "Unfortunately, it seems that Mr. Nott is bilingual."

Harry raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Robards looked at him and huffed. "I take it neither of you can recognize his tongue."

He and Liam both shook their heads and Nott started talking again. Harry could now tell that instead of incoherent English, the Death Eater was paraphrasing mountains of information in a Romantic language Harry couldn't identify. It made him smile a bit. Nott had found a loophole to offset questioning by Veritaserum. Yes, he was answering the interrogation but in a way that his interrogators couldn't understand.

"Is there no one in this entire hospital who can speak the same language as him!?" Robards was ready to strangle someone. He had both hands balled into fists around his wand.

"Please, dear, don't break another one. We already had to get you a new wand once this year." The dark haired woman put one of her long fingered hands over Robards' knuckle breaking fists. Harry examined her, realizing that this must be Gawain Robards' infamous wife, Dahlia. His first thought was that this woman was way too pretty and too young to be matched with his large eyebrowed boss. Dahlia Robards had a slim face with large almond eyes and full plum colored lips. When she smiled, a row of perfect white teeth glimmered in the lantern light.

Nott said another long phrase in what sounded like Spanish as he tilted his head and caught Harry's eye. His blue gaze twinkled slightly and Harry thought he saw the other man wink. Harry took a step back from the bed as his stomach started to bubble.

 _Why is he looking at me like that?_

"This is madness!" Robards shoved himself to his feet. "In the old days we would have Imperiused him into speaking English!"

Nott gasped and pulled away from the older Auror. His arms clanked the handcuffs against the posts ringing out an angry sound of metal scraping against metal.

Robards had the indecency to laugh. "Don't fret, son. I can no sooner cast an Imperius on you as I can on Potter. Not without a one way ticket to Azkaban. Though I'd love to be able to give you one of those myself."

Nott was quivering in his handcuffs and had started to grumble under his breath. Even in another language Harry could recognize the intonation of cuss words.

"We are not going to get any more out of him today." Mrs. Robards put in. "Maybe he should go home and rest."

It would have been a kind offer except for the nasty infliction she put on the word 'rest"."

"Very well. Potter, stun the kid and take him to Malfoy Manor. Nott's been staying with that lot since his father was sent away."

Harry's arms prickled. "You want me to _stun_ him?"

Robards gave a heavy sigh. "I don't have time to argue with you! I need every man I can get back to the Ministry pronto so we can get things in order. I can't let a conscious Death Eater walk away without a full team escorting him and, frankly, no one has the manpower or the time for that."

Harry tried to argue more but Liam shook his head in warning. Stunning Nott seemed inhumane and unfair but it seemed Harry didn't really have a choice. If he refused, Harry figured, Robards may trap Nott in a full body bind instead.

It took a lot of self control to take his wand out and cast the _Stupefy._ A younger Harry would have refused outright but now he was starting to learn how to pick his battles. As soon as he was out of the hospital he could reanimate Nott and take him to Malfoy Manor respectfully on foot.

Harry also figured that a younger version of himself would not have cared so much about a Death Eater's dignity.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." Dahlia Robards cooed. "We appreciate your cooperation." Her smoldering smile burned into Harry's memory as he exited the room.

Liam helped him return Nott to the stretcher they had brought him in. They levitated it together back to the hospital waiting room.

"You'll have to Apparate to the Malfoys' if you can." Liam suggested. "I don't believe their home is connected to the Floo network."

"Aren't you coming with me?" Somehow, dropping in on Lucius Malfoy with Nott still in handcuffs seemed like a bad thing to attempt alone.

Liam shook his head no. "I have to get back to the Ministry. Orders are orders."

He at least helped get Nott to his feet and retrieved the man's shoes. When they unstunned him for the second time, Theodore rolled out of the floating stretcher so fast Harry almost didn't get to him in time to catch him. The result was Liam needing to support the other two men while Harry had both arms flung tightly around Nott's ribs. He could feel every exasperated breath gust in and out of Nott's chest as he held him up completely for a few moments. Liam took the opportunity to put Nott's shoes on. Unsurprisingly, they couldn't find his wand.

"I'm sure it will turn up." The other young Auror told him, although Harry noted the doubt in his voice.

"And if it doesn't?" He tried not to shoot his disdain at Liam, the situation wasn't his fault. He still may have come off a little harsh.

"I don't know. I suppose he'll have to get a new wand. Take him home, Harry."

"I don't understand why we're doing this. He isn't well enough to leave the hospital!"

"Because we have to follow orders, Potter." Not for the first time that day Liam gave him a warning glare. "Try to keep your head down and do as you're told. In the long run it will be better for everyone. Trust me."

They shared a long hard stare. Harry had almost forgotten that he was holding up another person until Nott started talking again, this time in English.

"I think I need to piss. Maybe. I'm not so sure. Harvey, where are we?" He pushed himself up and tried to steady himself but was unsuccessful. Harry gripped him under the arms tighter.

"Take it easy, Nott."

Theo looked around the brightly lit room and blinked. There were a fair amount of people about for an early Wednesday afternoon, but no one paid them any mind. It probably wasn't too out of place to see a half mad person stumble out of a stretcher here.

Nott gripped Harry's arms tightly and nervously spotted Liam beside him. "Is that an Auror? What's going on?"

"And that's my cue to leave. Good luck, Potter." Liam gave a small wave and abandoned Harry like an unwanted pet.

"Arse." Harry grumbled after him.

"So, I'm pretty sure I have to piss now." Nott looked Harry in the face. "Do you think there's a toilet in this restaurant?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Try to hold it till we get you home, okay? It will only take a second. Hang on to me. We're Apparating there." Right now was not the time to go in search of a toilet.

He hadn't thought he'd ever need to return to the Malfoy household. Harry poofed them a fairly long distance from the front gates of the estate. He wasn't sure what sort of wards the Death Eater family still might have in place.

Understandably, Nott nearly collapsed on their arrival. It was sleeting in this part of England, making the ground slicker than necessary. If Harry had removed his arms from Nott after their Apparation the young man would have been a miserable heap on the ground. He had to admit he was glad it was him who personally had to escort Nott home. Any other Auror, perhaps even Ron, would have let the man tumble onto the wet muddy gravel, unintentionally or not.

There must have been some wards still in place since it was barely half a minute before the visage of Mrs. Malfoy came striding to the gate. She looked ever the graceful swan she always had though he noticed she hadn't spared a moment to put on a cloak. Her arms were clasped around herself tightly, comforting her underdressed body against the cold precipitation.

"Theo!" The gate thrust itself open with a wave of her wand. She was ontop of them instantly, clutching onto the tall Slytherin who nearly engulfed Narcissa's tiny frame. Someone must have clued her into what had happened for the first thing she did after embracing Nott was check his bandaged forearm.

"Help me get him inside." She commanded Harry after the bandaging must have met her inspection.

Nott was miraculously able walk. He couldn't walk well but between Harry and Narcissa they were able to get him up to the house rather quickly considering everything. She led them to a side door entrance, down a narrow hallway, and up through an immense kitchen large enough to encompass the entire first floor of Number 12. Nott made it until they reached a servants' room that must have been built merely to hold the china. There was a low cushioned bench in the long room that was large enough for Nott to lie down on.

"This will do for now." Mrs. Malfoy announced. The glinting light of the chandelier reflected off her substantial collection of dishes lined perfectly in their glass display cases. The Queen herself would have been impressed. Harry wondered if Mrs. Malfoy had to serve dinner to mass murdering racist maniacs on her pristine flatware. "Thank you, Harry. Lucius will hopefully be home soon."

What did you say to the woman who was married to Lord Voldemort's second in command? This woman's sister had tortured and murdered hundreds including Harry's painfully missed godfather. Narcissa also had saved the entire magical community by lying outright to the Dark Lord that Harry was dead.

All Harry could say to her was,

"He has to use the toilet."

She didn't seem to hear him.

"If they keep him any longer at work tell them I will contact a lawyer." Her face flushed with outstanding rage but Mrs. Malfoy was able to keep her volume in check as she continued to speak. "Honestly, why couldn't he stay at the hospital? Even just for one night!"

"I don't know, ma'am, but he may be better off here now that I think about it."

She gave him an icy sneer. "Oh?"

Harry fumbled with his words under the intense dark gaze the woman held.

"It's just, well, uh...they were interrogating him at the hospital. You saw the handcuffs!" He pointed to Nott's arms which were still chained. Narcissa's expression switched to pure shock. In the extremity of the moment she hadn't even noticed the handcuffs before.

"Robards forced him to drink Veritaserum right after we got out of the Ministry."

Her eyes widened but more out of concern than surprise.

"He would." She let herself sigh. "Thankfully Theodore didn't say anything compromising?"

"No." Harry allowed himself to smile a little. "He spoke in Spanish so they couldn't understand him."

Mrs. Malfoy didn't find that amusing at all. " _He what?"_

Harry scratched his head and backed away from her a step.

"Uh...instead of answering their questions in English he switched to Spanish. It was rather brilliant, actually."

"Portuguese." She growled. Obviously she didn't share Harry's impressed opinion on Nott's language talents and maneuvering truth abilities. "His mother was from Brazil."

"Uh...I don't understand…" This didn't seem the time to make a racist slur, not that there ever was one.

"Idiot!" She diverted her voice to Nott's half conscious form, finally letting her tone ring out loudly. "Now they'll think you have something to hide! Next they'll have you in trial and shipped off to Azkaban to live with your father and the Dementors!" She reached anxiously at her hair, pulling out the elegant braid with her fingers and yanking an impressive lump of blonde strands right out of her scalp.

The sound of the ripping hair follicles seemed to invigorate Nott more than her yelling. He shakily sat up suddenly and Harry made a reach for him, afraid he'd fall.

"Stop." He said softly, brushing Harry away and starting for Narcissa's hand in the same motion. His handcuffs collided with Harry's fingers, causing him to pull away at how cold they felt.

"For fuck's sake!" Harry pulled out his wand and vanished the cuffs wordlessly. The magical metal bracelets were gone in a puff of green smoke. He was ashamed he hadn't thought of doing it earlier.

The sudden lift of the heavy iron from Theo's arms had him examining his forearms with a dazed look. His fingertips of his left hand scratched at the inky dark splotch that had leaked through the bandages on the Dark Mark. He slowly blinked at his arm, his face started to fall, his eyes widened, and his eyebrows furrowed. It didn't seem that Nott had fully comprehended the severity of his condition until that moment.

He did fall then. Harry should have noticed it coming but Mrs. Malfoy picked up on it first. She prevented Nott from falling completely to the ground by blocking him with her body. Harry rushed to help them both back up while she held Nott up on the bench, his hands fisted tightly in her thin black dress robes. He had started shaking and Harry panicked that the man would go into shock again.

"Calm down. Both of you." She gestured for Harry to sit down on the bench beside Nott. "Please, Harry."

He was trying to recall when he had gotten on first name terms with Bellatrix Lestrange's sister and refused to sit down until she physically forced him to by pushing him. When he stumbled to Nott's side Harry understood her concern. His own arms were shaking far worse than Theodore's.

Content that Harry had seated himself to her liking, Mrs. Malfoy pulled out her wand and flicked it hard in a quick single motion high above her head. A tinkling chime rang somewhere deep in the bowels of the walls followed by a familiar pop of someone Apparating into the room. Harry looked up half expecting to see a house elf but was greeted by a warm smile of a slim older black woman with short hair.

"Ah, Sara. There you are. Could you help Theodore up to his bedroom. He's badly injured. Mind his arm and make sure he uses the loo before he lies down."

 _A servant?_ Harry thought and scowled. Be it the Malfoys to go out of their way to have a _black_ servant.

"Certainly ma'am." The older woman moved to help Nott up gently.

"Harvey," Nott acknowledged Harry before standing up, "don't go. We need to go over those details on the cable connections. Broadcasting stations are…"

"Enough, Theo." Sara said with a flat American drawl. She gripped Nott strongly to steer him out of the room. "No one cares about Muggle entertainment except you. Now, let's get you upstairs. You look awful."

They left quicker than Harry would have liked, leaving him alone with Mrs. Malfoy. She stood before him and took in his discomfort as a comment on her choice in house staff, which in a way it was.

"It's difficult to get good help these days." She stated. "I can't live with house elves anymore and finding people from Britain to work for our family is impossible. My husband tried to employ some individuals from the Ukraine but I insisted on English speaking staff. American servants came out to be the best option."

Harry continued to glare at her in silence. If she had stopped with her explanation there he would have accepted her. She didn't though.

"I know what you're thinking, Aunt Walburga is screaming at me from the afterlife for letting negroes into the house. But I'm not her."

His jaw clenched down hard. Yes, Narcissa Malfoy wasn't nearly as terrible as Walburga, but that didn't mean Harry enjoyed her company. He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone use the term 'negro' aside from civil rights documentaries he'd seen in grammar school. Even Aunt Petunia would have been affronted with Mrs. Malfoy's language.

She ignored his silence. "You will stay for dinner. While Theodore is resting you can join me in the library until Lucius gets home."

It was a command. Mrs. Malfoy apparently didn't ask people over for dinner she ordered them to stay.

"Uh...that'd be lovely, Mrs. Malfoy, but I have to get back to the Ministry."

"Absolutely not." She blurted.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Dinner wouldn't be for another six hours, at least. I can't stay here that long, ma'am, I'm sorry."

She didn't seem insulted by his statement. Mrs. Malfoy delicately lowered herself to the bench beside him and folded her hands in her lap. The clump of hair she had been twining in her fingers was vanished away wandlessly. "I may not agree with Gawain Robards' way of doing things but I have to believe he sent you to bring Theodore here on purpose."

Harry scoffed. "Did he?"

"Of anyone at the Ministry, you are the one who needs to get as far away as possible. You're a target. I'm keeping you here as long as I can."

Harry's spine straightened with a sudden prickling pain. After everything the Malfoys had done, now was when she started to care about his safety? Shouldn't she be more concerned about her son who was missing?

"I'll be fine, Mrs. Malfoy, truly."

She couldn't force him to stay and Harry wasn't going to wait around for her to try. Nor did he have any desire to see her husband when he returned. He thanked her, simply a habit of being polite, and retreated out the way they had come into the house. Mrs. Malfoy followed him and tried to change his mind. She even reached for him and clamped onto his wrist tightly as he made to exit out the front gate.

"Please don't leave yet. The wards on the house are strong. You'd be safe here!"

"Let go of me!" He managed to release his arm from her claws. "Why do you care so much? I'll be fine! Shacklebolt put an all clear on the Ministry hours ago!"

"If you were hurt I would never be able to forgive myself!"

Ah. So this was a guilt thing. She must be trying to make up for her part in the War.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Malfoy." Harry passed through the gate. A cold windful of sleet shattered against his face and he turned back to avoid the icy spray. In doing so he glanced at the skinny witch behind him. She looked frail and freezing in her slip of a dress and her blond hair loose and wild around her. "Don't worry, ma'am."

What a stupid and privileged thing to say. Harry couldn't look at her anymore. He removed his wand from his robes and Apparated away into the blustery sleet.


	11. Chapter 11

Ron woke up early, extremely early considering it was Saturday. He glared out the little bedroom window of Number 12 Grimmauld Place to see it was raining. The storm must have woken him up.

Neither he nor Harry had wanted to take the master bedroom. They believed Walburga may have cursed the room during her last few months alive. The fact that the terrible woman had died in the bedroom was enough to keep Ron far away from it. They hadn't even bothered to change out the furniture in most of the house so there was little chance he'd ever need venture into the Black matriarch's room for any aesthetic purposes.

Ron had opted for one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. It hadn't been as large as Regulus' or Sirius' rooms but there also wasn't a history in the bed sheets. Harry had done the same.

He was starting to get used to the ghastly old town house. At one point the building must had been charming. On rainy days a gloomy but settling air would inhabit the dark wooden walls and floorboards. Dreary, sure, but also weirdly calming.

Back in the room he had shared with Hermione at her parents old home a rainy morning would have included a cozy feather comforter, a lit fireplace and a warm embrace.

His current bed was cold and lumpy. It sagged on one side which caused him to fall to the floor most nights during his sleep. An empty iron stove sat across the room on black soot stained lion feet. It's hearth had remained dark and cold for decades.

He considered lighting the stove and trying to go back to sleep but his stomach flipped over itself in hunger forcing him to slide out of the room and descend to the kitchen barefoot.

The grandfather clock on the first landing stated that it was almost quarter past five. Harry wouldn't be up for a while so Ron opted for a small meal of apple slices and toast. Maybe later he would make omelettes or perhaps a quiche. Ron liked quiche. He thought he had some broccoli and onions to use up that he could throw in. There was a good brick of sharp cheddar he could grate on top.

A crash from upstairs interrupted his thoughts about food.

"Kreacher?" He put down his toast and made his way to the upper floor where he thought he heard the house elf stomping around the parlor. At most he would see Kreacher once a week and usually in the evening. He thought the elf had acquired a habit of drinking the house wine but he had yet to catch the little monster in the act. Kreacher spent most of his hours either sleeping or hidden away and crying in his old mistresses' room. Harry claimed he had seen the elf wearing Lady Black's dressing gowns, pretending he was her. Ron wouldn't be surprised if the poor old gargoyle had started to hallucinate in his later years.

A muffled voice echoed from the hall and Ron prepared himself to catch the horrid elf in some outfit he had dug out of a doxy infested wardrobe. Instead he found a blond young woman in purple stockings and a green dress stretched out before the fireplace, her toes wiggling in the warmth.

"Luna?" He tripped over the carpet since he stopped paying attention to where he was putting his feet.

"Hello, Ron." She beamed at him.

"What the…? Luna, it's not even half five yet, what are you doing here?"

"I came in last night but you were already in bed. Harry told me to come back in the morning."

Ron groaned and made his way to the leather armchair by the fireplace. "You didn't have to get here this early." He sat down.

"Well, I didn't want to miss you." She looked back at the fire. "We keep missing each other by tiny bits and I was beginning to think you were avoiding me on purpose."

Wasn't that the truth. After the first time she had Flooed here Luna had attempted to run into him twice more. Ron had made sure on both occasions to have an excuse not to be there. He had even involved Percy once, telling his brother he had wanted to meet for lunch instead of going back to his cubicle where he had seen the doty Ravenclaw heading.

"Um, yeah. Listen, I don't think…."

"Have you ever had your lightwaves read?"

"What?"

"Your lightwaves. They're used to measure the energies in a structure. I think it would be interesting to see how a house such as this one would measure up. I haven't been in a building with so much dark magic in it since I was at Malfoy Manor."

"Um, sure."

"I wonder if the Malfoys know that there's three centuries worth of druid temple magic in their cellar. It makes it hard to sleep when there's a corrupt pentagram in the area."

She was actually smiling over the memory of her time at Malfoy Manor. It sidetracked him so much that he didn't think over the proper way to respond.

"I'm sure you were kept awake by other reasons too. Ollivander always seemed like a creep to me. Can't imagine having to share a cell with him being fun."

It was probably the worst possible thing he could have said. Her smile instantly was gone, replaced by a frightened gaze that had her breaking eye contact with him and staring into the fire. It was as if Ron had slapped her.

"I worry about him." She said softly. So softly that he thought she didn't want him to hear.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Ron put his head in his hands. "I'm rubbish at talking to people. I didn't mean that about Ollivander. It's kind of you to worry about him."

"I don't." She looked back at him. "Mr. Ollivander is doing swimmingly. He adopted a son after the war; an orphan. I think he wants to teach him how to make wands."

Ron felt a bit better after hearing that. "But you just said you worry about him."

"Not him, Malfoy."

Ron blinked. "Huh?"

"I could do it for you if you'd like." She pulled her knees up under her chin, causing the short dress to bunch up at her hips. Ron tried not to stare at the ample view of her thighs that emerged under the green lace.

"Uh, what? Talking to people?"

"Oh no, not that." She started smiling again and Ron felt his ears get hot. Had she always been this pretty? "Reading the lightwaves. I have a set of scrying crystals that were my grandmother's. They work splendid."

"I suppose…"

"It would have to be on the spring equinox. Probably best if we did it at midnight too." Luna started tapping her nose with her index finger. Her eyes drifted to the side unfocused. "I talked with Kreacher about it. He says his mistress would approve."

Ron frowned. So he _had_ heard the house elf earlier. Kreacher must have been the one to welcome Luna into the house. Ron was a little shocked that they're encounter seemed to go so well.

"Although afterwards he called me a filthy blood traitor so I'm not sure he really meant it. Who's the mistress of the house?"

So their encounter had only gone partially well. That made more sense.

"Walburga Black." Ron grumbled. "Sirius Black's mother. She's been dead for years so don't listen to anything Kreacher says about her."

"So Harry and Ginny didn't get married?"

Ron had to pause a second to stare at her and try to figure out how she had gotten to that conclusion.

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, since Harry owns the house Ginny would be the mistress."

Ron chuckled. "No, Harry and Ginny didn't get married."

"Oh good. Their auras don't work together at all." She put her knees down and sighed as she stretched out her feet again.

For a minute or three they sat without speaking. Ron didn't feel any desire to discuss the ongoing Harry and Ginny saga. The pair had been crazy about each other until Ginny had gotten cold feet a few weeks ago. Instead of talking, Ron watched Luna fiddle with the lace on her dress, the faint hiss of raindrops and the crackle of the ancient fireplace filling the room with light popping sounds.

"So…" Ron cleared his throat. "Is there a reason why you're here?"

"I love the rain. It makes everything smell good. Did you know that rainbows give people hope?" She scooted toward him a bit, inching her bum across the dusty carpet. "It's because the leprechauns use them to cure sicknesses. Hundreds of years ago, Muggles with leprosy would seek out the rainbows in hopes of basking in them and being cured. In return for their healing, the leprechauns would take their gold."

"Truly?" Ron grinned at the sweet little story even if it was hogwash.

"Do you find that you have hope, Ronald?" She had wriggled next to his side and draped her head against the armrest of the leather chair, her cheek a mere centimeter away from his knee. He hesitated for a second before slipping out of the leather seat and onto the floor beside her.

After the lockdown at the Ministry the other day, hope had been far from his mind. They had barely returned from rushing Nott to St. Mungo's only to join a four hour long debriefing lecture about Death Eaters. If he had thought he knew every horrible thing the Dark Lord's followers had done, Robards and Shacklebolt had been there to prove him wrong. They even had the photographs and paper records to go with it.

"I try to." He said, watching how her yellow curls tumbled over her shoulders as she shook her head.

"I do too." She said. She continued to gaze into the fire. "There are vampire squirrels in the Forbidden Forest."

"What?" Ron shifted away from her a smidgen.

"Hagrid says he's seen at least four of them since November. I have to go meet with him at sunrise to investigate. A good vampire squirrel finding always makes a perfect cover story."

Then without a nod, a goodbye, or even a brief description of the physical appearance of blood sucking squirrels, Luna left. The faint aroma of rain soaked cotton and ash from the Floo powder being the only hints that she had been there.

Ron didn't realize how long he sat before the fire until Harry padded into the room some time later. His friend's hair looked like a mouse had climbed into and died, he desperately needed a shave and his glasses were crooked.

"There you are!" Harry gave a frustrated huff. "Did you sleep down here?"

Ron shook his head. "Just been chatting with Luna." He turned to look at the famous Boy Who Lived. At the moment the young wizard who had taken down Lord Voldemort in a one on one duel was picking his teeth with his fingernails.

"Well it's about bloody time! What did she say?"

"Nothing much really. She wants to do some sort of wave reading on the house."

Harry snorted. "A wave reading?"

"Don't ask." Ron rolled his eyes. "You're up awful early. What is it, six o'clock?"

"Seven." Harry answered glumly, clearly wishing he was still abed. "I slept terribly. Bad dreams."

"Still?" Ron eyed his friend with worry. Harry had never slept great since the War but lately it seemed to be getting worse. Certainly Death Marks being cast over Muggle London wasn't helping.

"I'm sure they will stop soon." Harry brushed off Ron's concerned look. "So I saw you went to the cheese shop yesterday. Any thoughts on breakfast?"

Ron grunted a single laugh. "Subtle much aren't you?"

"Like you want me to cook? Last time that happened you told me the bacon was abysmal. A little harsh, Ron." He offered him his hand to pull Ron to his feet. "Also, I got an owl from George you're going to want to see."

As they trudged out of the parlor Ron pulled his wand out to snuff the fireplace. "What's he want now?"

Harry was grinning so much his teeth sparkled. "Apparently he has a new girlfriend. A Muggle, no less. But also," Harry stopped while they were halfway down the stairwell to the kitchen, "he found out some pretty shocking things about Fred. The Muggles have his body."

Ron stumbled into Harry and they both had to snatch onto the greying banister as not to tumble down the stairs.

"What!?"

Harry helped him down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen. "Read the letter first and then we can start talking about it."

The short note from George made Ron more confused about the situation instead of reassuring him. George had scribbled a few sentences describing a girl he had met through the Muggle law enforcement who was investigating the reappearance of dead twins.

"What the fuck?!" Ron collapsed to a laying position on the benches that sat beside the long tables of the cellar dining area.

"I think we should pay George a visit. Or perhaps your parents." Harry took the letter back to read again. "Obviously he isn't telling us everything."

"George is _dating_?"

"Really? That's the first thing you're getting from this?"

"He's dating the girl who found Fred's body!" Ron sat up to read Harry a line from the letter.

 _She's really smart and I'm certain she'll figure this out. It's been nice getting to know her too._

"What the hell is he thinking!? That can't be healthy!"

Harry frowned. "If it's the same girl I met earlier he's thinking about a pretty face and blond hair."

"You met her?!" Ron snarled at him. "And since when does George write to you instead of me?" The idea that his brother had overstepped Ron and wrote an owl to Harry hurt.

Harry shrugged but still had the grace to look a little ashamed. "I think he meant to write to both of us."

"The letter's addressed to you!" He pointed to the heading on the note that displayed Harry's name in George's scratchy hand.

"I think you're going to have to ask him about that not me. Listen, we could stop by his shop later and bombard him with all the questions you want. I don't think he works late on Saturdays."

They both knew that Ron's older brother did nothing but run his joke shop. _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ was doing well and the man could easily afford to hire staff. Yet George seemed content to slave away at the storefront alone.

"He probably does." Ron said in answer to Harry's comment. "He lives in that store."

"Also something that isn't healthy." Harry admitted. "I don't know, maybe it's kinda good that he's finally getting out and meeting people. I'm sure she's a nice girl."

Ron scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "She's a Muggle."

"What does that matter? If she makes George happy why do you care?"

He shouldn't care really. Harry was right of course. If anyone deserved a pretty girlfriend to cheer him up it was George. But did he have to pick the woman who was investigating his brother's misplaced body?

"It just weirds me out. Not the Muggle thing so much but, you know."

Harry nodded. "Could we go back to the making breakfast thing? I don't want to talk about your brother's love life anymore."

"Hey, you brought it up." Ron crumpled up the note and tossed it at Harry's head.

"Ouch!" Harry massaged his head dramatically where the paper hit him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Ron batted his eyelashes and gave him the most puppy dog expression he could.

Harry just ignored his sass and stomped off to the ice box. "Guess I'll have to eat all this lovely cheese on my own. Oh woe is me."

"You touch any of that and I'll skin you!" Ron hurried to bypass his friend before starting on the process of making breakfast.


	12. Chapter 12

**I wrote this 10,000 word monstrosity of a chapter on my phone. It's a long one so thanks for sticking through and reading! The reviews have been lovely!**

* * *

"You want me to take _your_ girlfriend out?"

"Just for dinner. I need you to help ease her into the magical stuff. You grew up with Muggles so it should be a cake walk."

George had a grin that would melt the heart of even a Dementor. If it had been anyone else Harry would have bent his spine in half to appease that look. George Weasley on the other hand….

"You're scheming up something, aren't you?"

"Who me? Never! Come on, Harry please? It's just one dinner."

Earlier that afternoon Harry had paid George a visit with Ron at his shoulder. They had meant to corner him into telling them about his Muggle girlfriend and her strange profession. Instead, they ended up drinking an entire bottle of George's best firewhiskey. By evening Ron was unconscious on the couch while Harry and George were trying to sober up in the kitchen of his flat, splitting a pizza and a pitcher of water.

"I don't know. I haven't had to talk to a Muggle in months." Harry stuffed a mouthful of crust down his gullet.

"It will be easy! Just take things in baby steps. Tell her about Quidditch and Hogwarts but skip the stuff about your parents and the War."

He considered it for moment. George was right, Alice would need to be introduced to everything slowly. He just wasn't sure he was the best candidate for the job.

"Why don't you let her meet Hermione instead? She's had a better upbringing with the Muggles than me. I'll probably screw it up in the first five minutes and tell her I can talk to snakes or something."

George grimaced between his chews. "Hermione's annoying. I'd prefer not to scare her away with the most swotty witch there is. The last thing she needs is to be lectured to death about the entire history of the magical world."

"I suppose." He pulled a single mushroom off the pie to eat on its own. "But it feels like, I don't know, like I'm dating her."

His concern was met with a loud guffaw that had George almost falling out of his chair and Ron shouting something incomprehensible from the room over.

"Bloody hell!" George wiped a tear from his eye. "Mate, you're not taking any girls out on a date any time soon. Sorry, friend, but you're still too madly in love with my sister for that."

Harry meant to scold him but ended up just swallowing the pizza in silence and shrugging. The man was right after all. It would be forever before he got over Ginny.

"Just promise me we can have her meet Hermione later. I'll need back up."

"Fine. I have to work all day anyways. We can meet up later at Sunday dinner at Hermione's."

"That's tomorrow isn't it?" The group of them had an informal dinner party every other Sunday at Hermione's house since she had the largest dining room. Although Grimmauld Place's eating area wasn't much smaller, Harry figured that folks preferred Hermione's charming tudor in the suburbs over the crumbling Black household. "You don't think meeting all of us at once will be too overwhelming for Alice?"

"Nah. It's just you, Hermione, and I. I doubt Ron and Ginny will be showing up and Longbottom hasn't been by in ages."

"Right." Harry frowned. "Are you sure about this? You've only been dating her for a week."

"Just take her to lunch, Potter. It's not the end of the world."

It turned out that having lunch with Alice Roberts was much more bland than he would have originally believed. She was an intelligent person, to be sure, but very dry. She discussed British politics for nearly an hour while they snacked on sandwiches and crisps at a busy cafe. Besides her looks, Harry didn't get what George saw in her. She was a little boring, to be frank, and way too involved in local government. When he admitted he hadn't voted in the past election she became almost militant.

"If you don't vote you can't do anything to fix the future when our entire government goes to shit!" She snapped. "Please tell me you at least are registered."

When he shook his head she gave a loud huff and crossed her arms.

"We have a different governmental system in the wizarding world." Harry explained. "It would be foolish to vote for Muggle politics when they don't affect us at all."

That intrigued her. Soon he was drowned with questions about the inner workings of the government in Wizarding Britain. They ended up staying at the cafe for another three hours while Harry tried his best to decode it all for her. After a while it became refreshing. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to someone who didn't know anything about, well, anything. And since Alice didn't know his history she wasn't seeing him as an epic war hero or a pity worthy orphan.

For once in his life he could talk with a new person like anyone else could.

They ended up taking the bus to Hermione's, seeing that he couldn't Floo her there and Apparating a Muggle was deadly. When they arrived on her doorstep, Hermione was not only shocked that Harry had brought a guest with him, but she was reluctant to let them in.

"Can't we have dinner at your place this time?" She grumbled, opening the door just enough to put her head out. "The house is a mess and I wasn't really...um...I wasn't expecting company today."

That was different. Hermione wasn't one to forget a standing invitation. Alice glanced between the two of them in concern.

"If this is because I'm here…."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Harry stopped her. "Hermione loves meeting new people."

If he thought that manners would make her let them in he was sorely wrong.

"I can't let strangers into my house, Harry! Not today!"

"Why?" He puzzled his friend's sudden iciness.

"Is it because I'm a Moogle?"

Hermione froze. "What?" She gaped at the other woman for a second before giving Harry a quizzical look.

"This is Alice Roberts, Hermione, she's dating George."

His bushy haired friend finally opened the front door enough to let them into the foyer.

"George is dating?!"

"Trust me, you're as shocked as the rest of us. George is at the shop still but he should be here soon. I'm sort of babysitting Alice, you know, showing her the ropes."

She grudgingly herded them into her dining room, which was spotless. Why she had told them the house was a mess baffled him.

"Sit down." Hermione commanded them. "I'll put a kettle on."

Alice casually plopped herself down at the head of the table while Hermione made herself busy in the kitchen.

"Sorry about that." Harry grumbled to her as he also sat down. "I don't know what's gotten into her."

Alice shrugged. "You said you went to school with her?"

"Yes. We've all known each other since we were about eleven. Hermione and I were in the same year. Ron's our age too. He's my best mate and George's little brother. You'll probably meet him soon."

"And you dated the sister, right?" The Muggle continued. "She left you after you asked her to move in with you?"

Harry blinked. "Uh, yes."

 _Dammit, George, did you have to tell her THAT!?_

"And Hermione dated Ron. Seems like an awful close knit group. Thankfully I no longer spend time with folks I went to school with at eleven. I can't imagine dating my schoolgirl crush. Is it common for wizards and witches to acquire long term relationships at such a young age? "

"Uh…"

"Although, I see in your case it didn't work out."

Harry grimaced at her frankness and blessed the gods and Merlin alike that George chose to enter the room at that moment.

"Hello, tossers!" The man sang upon entrance. He gave Alice a sugary chaste kiss on the cheek before depositing himself at the table. "Did you have a nice lunch?"

"It was delightful. Harry is very well spoken."

George and Harry both smirked at her description.

"Don't think I've ever gotten that compliment before." Harry mused.

"You can add it to your long list of good traits." George suggested. He kicked off his shoes and draped his feet on the table in an elegant but disheveled air that reminded Harry a bit of Sirius. "I brought booze." He announced while depositing a handle of scotch on the table. Harry gave an annoyed groan.

"Didn't we drink enough last night?" He quipped. "I'm getting a headache just thinking about alcohol."

"You spend too much time with Ron." George waved off Harry's complaints. "Hey, Hermione! Bring in some glasses, won't you?"

Hermione was not amused by the addition of hard liquor to the party. She offered them each a mug of tea, slamming the last one in front of George hard enough to splash a bit of the hot beverage in his face.

"George Weasley, you will not be getting drunk in my house!"

"Aw come on, Hermione, where's the fun in that?"

"I thought we were doing this to get to know your girlfriend. You're not putting your best impression on by getting sloshed in front of her." Hermione glanced at Alice who merely shrugged.

"It wouldn't be the first time it happened." Alice commented. Then, to everyone's surprise, she opened the bottle of scotch with one hand and dumped two fingers of it into her tea.

"The first time he's been drunk in front of you or the first time for a boyfriend in general to do so?" Hermione said, no attempt at trying to hide her judgement.

"Both." Alice answered the question before taking a gulp of her spiked tea. "George got smashed the first night we went out."

"I did not!"

"You had four beers. And I believe every man I've dated in the past five years or so has gotten thoroughly plastered in my presence. Keep in mind that my job title comes with a tendency for heavy drinking. I have also been plagued with dating coworkers mostly which has resulted in double the amount of liquor consumption."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "So, you're a barmaid? Did you meet her at a pub, George?"

George looked ready to smack Hermione upside the head with his teacup but Alice beat him to it with her response.

"No, I'm a detective for the London Police. I promise you, we drink far more than any pub workers."

Hermione froze. She gave a slight nod of being impressed before taking a seat next to Alice. "A detective? Really?"

"It's not the easiest profession to hold." Alice admitted. "Hence the drinking."

"So, exactly how did you two meet?" Hermione plodded on with her interview.

"Well, I met George's father first due to…."

"It's not important!" George hastily interrupted Alice before she could continue with the awkward story of how the two of them met.

"I disagree." Alice blandly stated in a monochromatic tone. "Our first meeting was…"

"NOT IMPORTANT!" He snapped.

Harry startled a bit and almost spilled his tea while Hermione glared at George threateningly. Alice, however, sipped her drink and nodded like her boyfriend had simply commented on her nail polish instead of yelling at her.

"Right." Harry tried to clear the cloud of unease that had settled around the dining table. "Are we planning on getting Italian take away again? If so, there's a wizard owned place I know that I could Apparate to." His question was met with silent shrugs, so he assumed the answer was yes. "George, you should come with me, yeah?"

It seemed like a good way to get the man out before things got worse, but George didn't take Harry up on his offer. It appeared he wanted things to get worse.

"And leave Alice alone with Hermione?" An impish gleam graced his eyes. "I think that would be unwise."

"Oh?" Hermione crossed her arms and leaned toward the red head. "Are you worried she'll tell me how you met? Something to do with your father?"

"THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!"

"Stop yelling, please." Hermione glanced behind her in concern at the door to the rest of the house.

"I'LL YELL AS MUCH AS I WANT!"

"George, be quiet." Alice settled her hand on his shoulder. "We've all had a rough week and Hermione clearly has someone staying upstairs. From her body language, I would guess that they are sleeping and she doesn't want to wake them up."

Hermione's face flushed, proving that the detective was right. George's expression morphed from anger to glee as he focused on the bushy haired witch's derailment.

"You have a guest, Hermione? Why didn't you say so?" He removed his feet from the table and stood. "You don't mind if I go introduce myself?" He walked toward the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Hermione rose to block him, unaware that her sudden protectiveness just spurred him on.

"Someone that important?" George tried to push past her. "A new beau?"

"What!? No! Of course not! It's my…" Hermione tried to fumble for an explanation while keeping herself between George and the stairway. "my great uncle, uh, Bob. He's sick."

"Bob?" George shared a mischievous grin with Harry. It was pretty easy to tell when Hermione was lying. Especially when she was caught off guard.

"I thought you obliviated your entire family?" Harry commented. He didn't necessarily want George to dash upstairs but he was curious. Hermione was acting awful strange.

"Uh, no. Um, Uncle Bob isn't really related to me by blood so I didn't need to….GEORGE, NO!"

Before anyone could stop him, George made a run for the kitchen which had a second entrance to the hall. Harry and Alice were out of their chairs and along with Hermione had followed George up the front staircase.

The redhead barely made it down the upstairs hallway before a loud cracking sound exploded across the house and George was thrown backwards down the stairs. He crashed into Hermione, the first one to have followed him, and they both somersaulted to the first floor, catching Harry in their tumbling collapse onto the wooden floorboards. A communal groan of pain emerged from all three of them as Harry tried to detangle himself from the heap they had created on the ground.

"What was that?!" Alice shot an inquisitive look up the staircase. She gracefully stepped over the pile to get a closer look.

A tall figure emerged from the upper floor. In the darkness of the stairwell Harry squinted to try to identify what must have been Hermione's mystery visitor.

"Granger, your dinner guests are atrocious."

Harry recognized his voice before he saw his face. The Slytherin wore a black stocking hat to cover his unique hair. Still, his pointed face was just as noticeable.

"Wow, Uncle Bob, you look exactly like Malfoy." George said cheerily while shoving Hermione off of him so he could stand.

"Shut your mouth, Weasley!" Malfoy glowered down the stairs.

"You sound just like him too. You know, you look pretty young to be Hermione's great uncle."

"Hermione," Harry rubbed his hip which was starting to swell after he had crushed his pelvis into the ground thirty seconds ago, "why is he here?" He tried to keep his voice low and calm. It didn't bode well to get aggressive with a Death Eater standing over them with his wand drawn. Not that Harry was very threatening from his crouched position on the floor, but it didn't take an Auror to see that even with his jovial tone, George was also reaching for his wand.

Hermione looked frantic. She pushed Alice behind her and made a reach for George's arm.

"He's been ill. I've been letting him stay here for a bit while he regains his strength." She turned to Malfoy. "Merlin, Draco, put your wand away! No one's attacking you!"

Malfoy didn't listen to her. He descended towards George with his wand arm at his side; not raising it but still keeping his options open.

Unfortunately, George saw this as a threat and had his wand pointed at Malfoy's throat the moment the man was in reach.

Three things happened at the same time: Harry stood to pull out his own wand, Hermione screamed, and Malfoy stunned George. When the twin's form crumbled at the base of the stairs, Alice rushed forward silently but Harry stopped her with his arm outstretched.

"He's fine." He growled at the Muggle girl before turning to speak to the Death Eater. "You better have a good explanation for this."

Malfoy had turned a solid green. His mouth twitched slightly and it looked like he was fighting his eyeballs from rolling back into his skull. Harry started to lift his wand.

"Stop!" Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulder so fast and so rough that he turned his wand on her instead of Malfoy. She released him immediately at his movement and Harry apologized strongly.

"Fuck, Hermione, I am so sorry! You scared me and I didn't…."

"That's enough." She took a deep long breath and closed her eyes. "Right then, let's start over. Everyone put their wands away. I'll wake George up while the rest of you go back to the dining room. I think we need to just take a moment and talk this through."

Malfoy seemed to break out of his trance and started to argue with her but Hermione quieted him with a look. "You too, Malfoy. Go sit down with Harry. I made tea."

Shockingly that simple command worked. They marched to the dining room like ducklings while Hermione cast a quick charm to bring George back to consciousness. Harry, Malfoy and Alice were barely settled at the table when they heard the twin bellow from the hall.

"You're letting him live here!?"

There was a muffled answer in Hermione's tone that was further drowned out as George stomped back into the dining room without her.

This time he didn't lash out at Malfoy. Instead, George harrumphed, returned to his chair, put his feet on the table again and poured an impressive amount of whiskey into his mug.

Malfoy watched them all closely. His gaze lingered a minute on Alice, the only one of them willing to sit near him, but he kept most of his attention on George's wand which stuck out of the Weasley twin's back pants pocket.

It had been years since Harry had seen his former school nemesis. Malfoy looked to have gained some stamina since his sickly appearance during the War, but the man didn't have the boisterous glow that permeated most Quidditch stars. Even though he held himself up with the same pompous privilege that Harry remembered, there was something off about his posture.

"Are you wearing sweatpants?" Harry smirked. Probably not the best thing to say to someone you last spoke to in battle.

Malfoy almost growled at him. "I had to purchase a new wardrobe recently and the shops nearby are not equipped with my preferred clothing."

Harry puzzled over Malfoy's navy sweatpants, Muggle university tee shirt, and black knit cap.

"Alright, I'm stumped." He faced Hermione who had returned from the kitchen with one more cup of tea. "Explain."

She glanced at Malfoy nervously from her seat across from him, clearly waiting for his permission to talk. After a moment of mulling it over, the blonde gave a surrendering sigh.

"Go ahead." He muttered. "Might as well tell them everything. I doubt Potter and Weasley will be having tea with my parents anytime soon, but just to be safe," he pointed at Harry and George, "you have to promise you won't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" George pulled his legs down so he could lean forward over the wooden table to face the Slytherin. "That you're a prick who attacked me for no reason."

"You ambushed me! I had no warning that you would come hurdling down the hall!"

Harry spoke before the two men started throwing punches. "So, you ran away from home to shack up with Hermione and you don't want anyone to know about it."

Malfoy snarled at him while Hermione popped in with her view.

"As you probably know, Malfoy was missing for a while. Since no one realized he wasn't showing up for Quidditch practice, he ended up trapped in a Muggle hospital for five weeks. Theodore Nott just recently figured out where he was and I had to get him out of the hospital. He's been staying with me until he's well enough to fly again."

"He was missing?" George raised a curious eyebrow while Harry nodded.

"We heard about it a week ago in the Auror department." Harry recalled his time in the bomb shelter with Theodore Nott and Malfoy's father throwing a hissy fit because Robards wasn't trying hard enough to find his son. "You do realize the magnitude of what you're doing, don't you?" He asked. "Keeping him here without anyone knowing about it?"

Hermione frowned. "It was his choice."

George looked perplexed. "Hang on, how do you get trapped in a _Muggle_ hospital?"

"Same as any other hospital." Hermione answered. "If you're injured enough you can't leave."

"Injured how so?" George scanned Malfoy over with his eyes. "He looks fine to me."

A long quiet smothered the room as Malfoy and Hermione shared a look. Whatever happened to him had to have been pretty serious. They hovered over the topic, considering whether to share the grim details or not. After forever, Hermione eventually talked.

"He fell off his broom."

George laughed loudly and Harry snorted some of the tea he had been drinking back into his cup.

"He's an international Quidditch star!" He managed to cough out after putting his cup down. He had been expecting something along the lines of what had happened to Nott the other day, but falling off his broom?

George clomped Harry on the back with his fist while he sputtered down another cough.

"How far did he fall?" This came from Alice who had been quietly sipping her drink throughout the entire ordeal.

"And who the hell are you!?" Malfoy snapped at the woman. He was a bit flustered from George and Harry laughing at him.

Alice gave him a big dimply smile that had Malfoy grinning stupidly with a blush on his cheeks. Harry supposed even Death Eaters had weaknesses for pretty faces and big eyelashes.

"Alice Roberts." She offered him her hand and Malfoy raised it to his lips to kiss. Harry heard Hermione scoff while George started giggling madly.

"Draco Malfoy." He calmly introduced himself. "I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts. Did you go to Beauxbatons?"

"She's a Muggle, Malfoy." Hermione said, quite a bit louder than she needed to.

Immediately, the Death Eater dropped the Muggle's hand as though she had just handed him a palm full of dog crap. His face contorted into a grimace but he didn't leave the table nor did he scoot his chair away from Alice.

"First Muggle you've ever met?" George waggled his eyebrows.

"Are you deaf, Weasley? I was in one of their hospitals for weeks."

George chuckled. "Because you fell off your broom. Right. And since you still can't fly because of your drastic injury, you're stuck staying here to escape from daddy and mummy."

"It's more complicated than that." Malfoy took a long gulp from the teacup in front of him.

"Really? I'm failing to see why."

A twitch shifted through Malfoy's body. Something snapped his already stressed composure.

"I suppose you wouldn't. You probably haven't shared many moments with my parents but I'm certain if you had been in my place you would've done the same."

Malfoy Senior was no saint, Harry was sure, but if the demonstration during the Ministry lockdown had shown him anything it was that the man certainly cared about his son. The small interaction Harry had shared with Narcissa during the final battle had elevated the woman to an outstanding status far above her psychopathic sister.

"After everything they've been through don't you think your parents deserve to know that you're alive at least?" Harry reasoned.

"I'll let you have that one, Potter, since you wouldn't know the first thing about having parents."

George and Hermione both visibly prickled at that comment while Harry felt his insides get cold.

"What happened to your parents, Harry?" Alice asked matter of factly.

"Okay, who is this Muggle and why do you have her over for dinner if she obviously doesn't know anything?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" George looked ready to fight again.

"She's dating George." Harry answered. "And we're supposed to be getting her acquainted with the magical world not scaring her away."

"Ah, so no harrowing tales about Potter's folks, I see. Let's stop talking about mine as well, please."

"Why!?" Alice scrunched up her face in frustration. "What happened to Harry's parents?"

"Baby steps." George warned her. "Did Harry tell you about Quidditch yet?"

Finally they were able to gear the evening into something more pleasant. Withholding Hermione, they all began colorfully describing the ins and outs of the best sport in the world. Alice kept up well although she didn't believe half the things they told her.

"You can't possibly catch a walnut sized ball while flying a broomstick at fifty kilometers per hour." She grinned. "A ball with wings!"

"It's really rather dumb." Hermione was getting more brash as the night wore on. They still hadn't eaten anything yet and George had kept the liquor flowing. "Quidditch is far too dangerous." She continued. "George and Harry make it look like Draco's fall was nothing but they have both suffered serious injuries as well thanks to that dreadful game."

"Not me!" George beamed. "I never got more than a few scratches. Harry's the one with the death wish."

Malfoy snorted. "I agree. Potter has almost died several times on the pitch."

"Hey!" Harry's cheeks had gotten hot thanks to the beverages and the comments. "It's not like I chose to be thrown off my broom!"

"No, you were just cast an unlucky go of things." George commiserated. "Not that my lot has been much better, but at least I didn't have Professor Quirrell or Dementors out to get me."

Harry glowered at him. "And you didn't have your name tossed into the Goblet of Fire!"

"Ah yes, the _Quad_ wizard Tournament." George snorted. "Harry had to outsmart a dragon once." He told Alice. "Talk about dangerous games. But you have to admit that it ended pretty well. Ten thousand galleons isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Dragons are real?!"

"I gave the galleons to you!" Harry plowed past Alice's sudden epiphany. "And that event ended terribly if I recall correctly." Harry snapped. "You remember Cedric, don't you, Georgie?"

George looked affronted. "Of course I do!" He took a long swig from his cup. "Poor bloke. He didn't deserve to go that way."

"None of them did." Malfoy chimed in. "Diggory was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He may have made it if it wasn't for that fucking portkey."

"Tell me about it." Harry grumbled.

"Okay, we are not continuing down this road." Hermione moved to take the bottle off the table but George plucked it away from her and out of reach.

"I know!" A smile blossomed over his features. "Let's play a game!"

"I don't think that's.."

"It's called the "Get Hermione drunk so she tells us stories about how the Muggles have it worse than we do" game!"

"No!" Hermione paled considerably.

"Come on! Alice can help you and Malfoy's never played before."

"This doesn't really sound like a game." Malfoy looked intrigued. "What kind of stories?" He gave Hermione a deep look that made her go even paler. George poured another ounce into her cup.

"This one time she told us about some wretched disease that Muggles give to each other through bodily fluids. Uh, what was it called, spades?"

"AIDs." Hermione corrected him. "And we're not talking about it."

Harry grinned at George. He recalled the drunken night Hermione had ranted on about Hogwarts' lack of sexual education. She had gone on about HIV and other STDs for a good two hours in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, furious that none of them knew enough about it.

"You lectured us forever. Ron was terrified. He wouldn't use a public toilet for weeks after that." Harry told her.

"Ridiculous." Hermione mumbled. "You can't get AIDs from a toilet."

"Well, technically you could." Alice said hypothetically. "If there was blood or semen on the toilet seat and it came into contact with an open wound within the incubation time..."

"WHAT!?" Malfoy looked at her in horror. "What are you talking about?!"

Alice and Hermione launched into full out instructor mode and painfully described the horrors of the HIV virus. It ended with Malfoy looking like the world was about to collapse and George refilling Hermione's drink for the third time.

"It's like the bubonic plague!" Malfoy had his fists up against his mouth and was scrunched into a ball against the back of his chair. "I thought it was a myth pureblood mothers made up to scare us into washing our hands when we were little."

Hermione groaned. "That is so wrong on so many levels."

Malfoy nodded in agreement. "It's where the mudblood idea came from. Supposedly the wizarding community was able to survive the plague simply because we wash our hands before eating and after using the toilet. Muggles don't have soap, so they remained filthy and a third of them perished from the Black Death."

Hermione looked ready to snap his neck. "You do realize that was over five hundred years ago?! Although your argument is somewhat true, Muggles have been using soap for centuries! Their hygiene is far better than anything your pureblood brethren has."

"I know that _now_!" Malfoy yelled. "I was made well aware of the Muggles' insane obsession with hygiene after staying at the hospital. They use gloves constantly and wash the floors and surfaces with astringent toxins."

Harry had to laugh at that. The contrast between the care Malfoy had been used to at the school infirmary and the sterile Muggle hospital had to have killed the man. In hindsight, it really wasn't that funny, but considering Malfoy's discomfort for some reason was entertaining. George also seemed to be enjoying it.

"Oooh, Hermione, tell him about the war they had in the trenches. The one where everyone's feet kept rotting off." He sang.

"NO!"

"Or the story about the sex slave trafficking."

"The _what_!?" Malfoy looked to be trapped in the fetal position.

"Or better yet, the one where that entire city in Japan blew up. That's a good one. Gave me nightmares for months."

Hermione gaped at George. "If I didn't know better I would think you enjoyed talking about other people's catastrophes!"

George shrugged and drained his mug. "Sort of. It just puts things into perspective. My life doesn't seem so grim when I look at the big picture." He reached for Malfoy's cup to give the man another few swallows of liquor. "Malfoy probably needs to hear that more than the rest of us."

The Slytherin watched the ginger hand him back his drink. He considered George's comment and glanced at Harry before tipping the cup back against his mouth. "I definitely don't want to play _that_ game." He declared.

"What game?" Harry asked.

"The 'who has the worst life' game. As Weasley so elegantly mentioned, I would most likely win."

Harry trembled with a tornado of rage. "Why, because you can't play Quidditch for a bit and you're not talking to your loving parents who would turn the sky over to find you?" He threw at him.

Malfoy set his cup down slowly. He didn't make eye contact with any of them as he started to talk. "The last time I spoke with my father was the day we came back from trial." He stirred his tea with a spoon. "It had maybe been three hours, maybe four, and we had decided it would be best to start cleaning out the Manor; better to get it done with as fast as possible. We didn't have any more house elves or servants after what happened so the cleaning had to be done by us." He paused, shuddered, took a sip of tea and continued on with his story. "I completely broke down on the cellar staircase while trying to scourgify Lovegood's blood out of the marble floor tiles. My father found me sobbing there." Malfoy glanced at Harry coldly. "Do you know what he said to me? He watched me bawl my eyes out after all that had happened. After watching the Dark Lord torture people to death at the dinner table, after that giant snake ate a Muggle girl in the yard, after seeing Dumbledore die because _I_ let them into Hogwarts through that horrid cabinet, and after everything _everything_ my aunt did, do you know what he said to me? He said: 'Stop crying, Draco, you look pathetic. This was nothing compared to the first war. Get over it.'"

The heat that had flushed Harry's cheeks earlier was gone. A stubborn icy gut clenching sickness had entered his belly. Hermione and George looked to be having a similar reaction to Malfoy's story.

"I left that evening without saying goodbye." Malfoy continued. "Try outs for Quidditch were soon after that and in the meantime I stayed at a hotel. My parents owled me everyday, sometimes more than once, but after a few weeks of no responses they seemed to get the hint. I still get presents from them on my birthday and Christmas but I never open them." He frowned. "I was angry already that they had the idiocy to get pregnant during the War. They had a baby a month before the final battle!" He sneered. "On top of that they left the child _alone_ to get to Hogwarts to fight. My father's need to scold me after we had barely escaped being sent to Azkaban for life was just the cherry on the miserable poisonous cake." Malfoy sighed and wiped a stray tear from his face with the heel of his palm. Noticing the droplets, he tried to leave the table with some of his dignity. "Well, this has been fun. Lovely seeing you all again."

He was shakily trying to get his feet beneath him when Alice stopped him.

"I'm clearly missing something huge here. Could we back up to the part with the giant snake and the torturing?"

Malfoy graced the woman with an apologetic look. It seemed his goal had not been to terrify the Muggle in the room. Harry glanced nervously at George, wondering where to start.

"I don't think that's a good idea." George patronized her. "Baby steps, remember."

For the first time that day Alice showed a bright spark of emotion. Instead of vocally ousting her temper, she clawed apart a backpack she had brought with her, revealing a large photo album.

"Do you want me to be successful in my investigation?" She berated her boyfriend. "The more we dive into this the more it seems you want me to stay in the dark." The way she stared at George would have burned a crater into a stone wall. "Mr. Malfoy, please stay a minute. I need to ask you a few questions."

She flipped the book open to the first page of photographs and pushed the album into Malfoy's hands. "Sorry, it's a bit graphic, but I need you to tell me if any of these deceased individuals look familiar to you."

" _What!?"_ Hermione squeaked.

"I'll need you and Harry to do the same when Mr. Malfoy is finished." Alice's voice had returned to it's regular glum drawl.

Malfoy's expression got worse and worse as he flipped through the pages. He looked ready to vomit his esophagus out.

"This is," The blonde swallowed and pointed to an image in front of him, "this is his brother." His eyes flickered over to George.

"Yes, Fred Weasley was one of the victims we found."

George's posture stiffened and Harry instinctively put a hand around his friend's shoulder for comfort. He knew Alice's investigation would eventually need to be aired but that didn't make it any easier to listen to.

"What do you mean, victims?" Hermione eyed the other woman nervously.

Alice told them a long explanation about the mysterious bodies that were cropping up all over London. She described how all of them died nearly two years ago but were still in pristine condition.

"We've had many other victims with similar characteristics. Unknown deaths like these have been occurring forever but there was a massive increase starting in the mid nineteen seventies. I'd estimate nearly eleven thousand."

"ELEVEN THOUSAND!" Hermione looked like ash.

"That is correct." Alice seemed a tad annoyed at the witch's interruption. "They stopped completely for about thirteen years until an entire village in northern England was slaughtered in the summer of ninety five. Again, they showed no sign of violence; almost as though they had been frightened to death. In that instance we were able to identify the victims as we have the majority of the time. This is not the case for the few pictured here as well as about two hundred others. I know now that the unnamed victims are from the wizarding community. What I can't seem to get through is what happened to them and why are these thirteen being exhumed from two years ago."

A deep silence penetrated the dining room as Malfoy continued to page through the photos. Harry had never considered the drastic amount of Muggles that had been murdered during the wars. He had thought a few hundred but never in the thousands! Of course the police would notice a pattern.

Alice crossed her arms. "We've been wrestling with this mystery for years. I was hoping that this time I might get some answers." Her eyes glittered under her rectangular glasses with frustration and anger. "Last time I tried to interview a wizard about the details, at least I think he was a wizard, I woke up in my bed a week later with no recollection of how I had gotten there. The only way I knew that a week had passed was when I checked my mailbox and found a week's worth of newspapers crammed into it. Five months later, a strange woman agreed to give me the name of one of the dead gentlemen we found in the underground. On that evening I remember leaving my office to meet with her but I don't remember anything else. My boss claimed he discovered me asleep on the curb the following morning. It wouldn't be the last time I felt that I had lost a day or two of my life. I used to believe I was being drugged by mafia members but now..."

"Your memories were altered." George said sadly. "Alice, I am so sorry. I promise I won't let that happen to you again."

She huffed. "It doesn't appear that you are the one who controls that. Even if I don't know why I do know that whatever this is, it's big. So big that your people don't want any of the families of those eleven thousand to know what happened to their loved ones. Now you're all sitting here trying to protect me from whatever knowledge you have on this war, or wars, thinking that I'd be better off not knowing."

"You would be." Malfoy didn't look up from the book while he talked. "It's one thing telling you and only you but if that many Muggles found out about the magical community and how their family members were killed by it, we would have another war to deal with." He flipped through the photos one last time. "But for your own sanity, I heed you, don't dig into this. "

"You recognize someone don't you?" She asked him as if to completely sidetrack his warning. Malfoy sighed and nodded.

"Well?" She pushed him.

"This man. I knew him." He pointed out a grey haired individual with a long braided beard. "Lars Plim. He was a Snatcher. I believe he was Scottish."

"What do you mean by Snatcher?"

Again, no one wanted to answer her questions. Harry wondered where they would even start.

"I don't know…" Malfoy started.

"Think of kidnappers but for a deranged madman who's also a racist dictator." Hermione put in.

"I think 'dictator' is giving him more credit than necessary." George admitted. "I'd call him more of an insane militia leader with a snake obsession."

"Sorry, of whom are we speaking?"

Harry sighed. "Should we start from the beginning?" The others nodded in agreement. "Right, Alice, what has George told you about blood status?"

It turned out George had told her nothing. She had picked up on the rift between Muggles and wizards simply from the conversations she had heard that night. She even understood that it was a battle that had been raging for generations, bringing in a recognition of the Salem Witch Trials in the States and fables like Joan of Arc. When they started describing Voldemort in more detail, she started comparing the maniac to Hitler.

"It doesn't seem like Voldemort would have the brilliance and the full scale power to kill millions or completely take over Europe, but I can see the starting of the threat he could have been. Especially being immortal."

"Wait, what do you mean, millions?" George paused her. Hermione shot him a long pale glare. "Is this another nasty part of Muggle history we should know about?"

Like a dog switching from kibble to table scraps, Alice jumped from murdering wizards to Nazi Germany in half a second. It was like she was comparing two lab research specimens in an educational debate. The sheer blandness she put into the discussion made Harry believe she wasn't paying attention. Hermione thankfully stopped her before she got too far.

"Baby steps, Alice." The bushy haired witch said softly. She pointed to George and Malfoy. "No world history knowledge past the bubonic plague. And after what we've been discussing, maybe tonight isn't the best time to start learning about death camps and world wars."

"Death camps?" George raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me, if you thought you were having nightmares before…." Harry said while shaking his head.

Not surprisingly, George looked like he wanted to know every iota of info they could tell him. What _was_ surprising was that Malfoy seemed to want that too.

"Are you saying that this Hitler fellow was worse than the Dark Lord?" He said. "I'm curious to know why."

"Well, the obvious difference is that one killed a few thousand and the other several million in industrially organized concentration camps, but I agree with Hermione. I think we can skip the details tonight. Although I am deeply saddened that they didn't teach you this in school." Alice told him. "Hog's warts indeed." She snorted a cold laugh. A strange sound after her introduction to the Holocaust. "Back to the Snatchers. Do you know how Lars Plim died, Mr. Malfoy?"

Here was the bread and butter of the situation. They could flitter around the subject all night, telling Alice vague descriptions of Voldemort's characteristics and bigotry, but explaining the horrors the man did was going to be rough.

"Yes. My aunt murdered him. She used the killing curse." Malfoy didn't want to play footsie anymore it seemed. "She tortured him first, of course. She was good at that."

"What do you mean by torture? Is it in the same sense that you meant before?" She had pulled the photo album back from him to remove Plim's picture in order to scratch out a few sentences on the back of it with a pen. "The body had no physical evidence of any mistreatment."

Malfoy watched her write. He was entranced with the pen. It could have been the first time he'd seen someone use something other than a quill.

"The _Cruciatus_ curse wouldn't leave a mark." Hermione answered for him. "That's the real beauty and horror of it. It causes the worst pain imaginable but that's all it is; imaginable."

"And this was your aunt's doing?" Alice didn't even blink. "Tell me about her. What's her name?"

Malfoy's eyes did a strange backwards fluttering flip. Hermione noticed and a sudden wave of worry passed over her. It was as if the Slytherin had fallen out of a window and she needed to save him. Hermione reached her hand across the table to catch the man by the collar, afraid he would collapse. The instant her fingers snagged the fabric of his cotton tee shirt Malfoy swatted Hermione's hand away.

"I'm fine." He berated his new housemate. "Bellatrix." He told Alice. "Bellatrix Lestrange." Another eye flicker. "She was a lunatic and a devoted follower of the Dark Lord."

"She's dead now?"

"Yes. Died in battle."

"You were present when she killed this man?" Alice continued to scribble on the photograph.

"I was." He barely whispered it.

"Why did she kill him? Do you know?"

Malfoy gave a long sigh and closed his eyes. "She thought he defected. I don't know if he actually did or not. He said he didn't but she was torturing him at the time. It's hard to be sure if someone is telling the complete truth while they're shitting their pants and crumpled into a heap on the floor."

Alice nodded. Her expression showed no betrayal that Malfoy's words had even been heard. The rest of them had varying degrees of misery on their faces. Harry figured each of them had been victim to Bellatrix's violent _Cruciatus_.

"You really aren't getting it, are you!?" Harry slammed his fist on the table. "It was hell! George's brother was killed, I lost my parents, Malfoy had the madman _living_ at his house…"

"You did?" Alice blinked at the blond.

"My family supported him." Malfoy shrugged.

"Did you?"

It was getting to a point where Harry knew they could never fully explain it to her. There were too many details. Too many events and people being killed and too many memories to go back through. Malfoy looked more emotionally traumatized than Harry, which was saying something, and Hermione was about to fall out of her chair from the drinks she had consumed. George just looked exhausted.

"I did in the beginning." Malfoy made eye contact with Harry as he answered Alice's question. "But that changed completely later."

"What happened to Plim's body after he died?"

Malfoy frowned while considering her question. "I don't know. I assume he was put in a mass grave with the rest."

"Where was the mass grave? Do you know how many bodies were in it? Were any of them ever moved?"

"And... I think we're done for the night." George wiped a lazy hand over his face. "We've been at it for nearly an hour and I'm starving."

"But…."

"Quit while you're ahead, love. Malfoy won't talk to you later if you question him too much."

"Fine, just one more question. Do you remember if Plim had a brother? A twin perhaps?"

George's relaxed exhaustion stiffened to a hard glare. Malfoy noted it and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Yes."

Harry's belly flipped over.

"Were they identical?" Alice's voice suddenly sounded far away. Harry saw Malfoy shake his head.

"No, not identical but still twin brothers. I think the other one was a follower too but not a Snatcher. I only met him once before he died in the final battle." He pulled the book back from her. "Are you suggesting that they all are twins?"

"So far that's the only pattern we've seen. All three victims to be identified in this group have been twins."

Malfoy swallowed. "I'm no expert, but I wonder if," he trailed off, "never mind."

"WHAT?!" Her immediate enthusiasm startled all of them and Hermione finally tumbled out of her chair. Alice didn't wait for the other woman to regain her seating before interrogating Malfoy into continuing. "Tell me!"

"Um, well this one family has a fascination with twins. They felt twin siblings had a magical advantage over the rest of us and advertised it loudly. Alecto has a set of twin daughters that were in Slytherin. That family is extremely odd. They never admitted it but it was hinted that the twins' mother had several miscarriages on purpose until she could have two children at once."

Harry's stomach flipped the other direction.

"The Carrows?!" Hermione squeaked from her halfway seated position on the floor.

George looked ridiculously ill. Malfoy was shivering.

"Could you tell me more about them?"

"What's to tell? Only that they're maybe the worst human beings alive on the planet." Malfoy was starting to get angry. He shoved the book back to her. "The Carrow siblings tortured children for the fun of it. They weren't as treacherous as my aunt or the Lestranges, but they came close. I believe they lead the attack on the McKinnons."

"The McKinnons?" Alice was unstoppable. "What happened to them?"

Malfoy swallowed. "A few families were targeted as threats. Entire households would be attacked for many reasons." He explained. "Some were much less fortunate than others. The McKinnons were rather lucky in that they didn't suffer much. They were still tortured, I'm sure, but nothing in comparison to the Longbottoms or the McGonagalls," he paused to take a long drink, "or the Potters."

"Harry's family?" Alice frowned deeply. "You've been skirting around that detail for a while."

"My parents' deaths were a big pivotal point in the war." Harry explained. George opened his mouth to stop him but Harry raised a palm to silence the redhead. "No, she needs to know about this. I was marked in a prophecy after I was born that I'd be the chosen one to kill Lord Voldemort. When he heard about the prophecy, Voldemort set out to kill me before I grew up to kill him. He attacked my parents' house in Godric's Hollow and killed my father and mother to get to me. But when he turned his wand on me the death curse backfired and hit him instead. He wasn't killed but the blast destroyed him for the time being. It took him thirteen years to recuperate."

"Well that's the quick and dirty version." George darkly smirked. "Harry was also one years old at the time. The fact that he survived was unheard of. No one ever had before in his place, let alone a baby."

Malfoy sneered. "Yes, Potter is a miracle child."

"It wasn't something _I_ did!" Harry felt his cheeks redden. "It was because my mum threw herself in front of me. Her sacrifice fucked up the curse!"

Alice looked puzzled. "But Voldemort didn't die."

"No, Potter got to complete his prophecy and kill the monster sixteen years later." Malfoy said.

Harry groaned and slammed his head into the table. "You make it sound like I had a choice."

"Don't sell yourself short, mate." George patted Harry on the back. "He's a hero." He told Alice. "Who knows what would have happened if Harry didn't defeat that psycho."

"All this time I've been talking with a war hero?" She beamed at him. "I would have never guessed."

"Technically they're all war heroes." Malfoy gestured with one arm toward the group. "Everyone here except me, of course."

"Wait." Hermione bounced back in from her long moment of listening. "You mentioned the McGonagalls. What happened to them?"

Malfoy looked saddened. He wouldn't look at Hermione and instead began stirring his drink again with his spoon. "You don't know?"

Hermione shook her head as did Harry while George and Malfoy appeared panicked.

"They said her husband died of dragon pox." Hermione said.

"Good. Keep telling yourself that." George honestly cautioned.

Obviously Professor McGonagall's husband had befallen a fate far worse than dragon pox. Harry guessed even worse than the Longbottoms by the color Malfoy's face had changed.

"We are NOT discussing that tonight." Malfoy hissed. "I do not want to have to get more drunk."

"Fine by me." George agreed. "So about that dinner we were supposed to have?"

The evening ended on a slightly more pleasant melody with three pizzas and a giant plate of biscuits Hermione had dug out of her pantry. Malfoy retreated to his guestroom upstairs before they had finished their first few bites. Hermione watched him leave sadly but didn't move to follow him. No one else even bothered to wish him goodnight. Harry pondered the behavior of the young Death Eater as he chewed.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Harry said while pulling the toppings off the pizza to eat with his fingers.

"Who?" George was helping himself to his fourth slice.

"Malfoy. I think his parents really messed him up."

"Pfft, obviously. Bellatrix did too it seems."

"Hermione," Harry addressed his female best friend, "he didn't really fall off his broom, did he?"

She shrugged and put the biscuit she was munching on down. "Oh, he fell alright. He fell almost nine stories onto the concrete sidewalk and cracked his skull open! The reason he's wearing a hat is because he's vain about the scar. I healed it as best as I could but since he won't go to a proper healer he'll have to deal with it."

"So, he got hit by a bludger in the middle of a city or did something happen to make him fall?" George added. "Or did he perhaps fall off his broom on purpose?"

Hermione looked to have swallowed her food down the wrong pipe or just forgot how to breath for a moment. "What...what are you suggesting?" She coughed.

"Well…" George looked to Harry for support. "You have to agree that the man seems depressed. I mean, who wouldn't be with Lucius Malfoy as their dad."

Hermione gasped and clutched her mouth. "You think he attempted suicide!"

Harry instantly wasn't hungry anymore. On the contrary, he felt rather nauseous.

"Considering the things he said tonight and the little glaring fact that he's living with _you_ in order to avoid his problems, then yeah, I'd say that Malfoy is suicidal."

"No!" Hermione shoved her plate away. "That can't be! He has seizures when he flies! The hospital even diagnosed him with epilepsy."

"What kind of seizures?" Alice mentioned. "Grand mal?"

Hermione nodded. "I think so. I've yet to see one in full swing. He has small tremors a lot but nothing lasts longer than half a second. I think the meds the Muggle doctors prescribed him are helping. His records from the hospital had his seizures clocked almost at two minutes! That's terrifyingly long! I'm surprised he didn't have severe brain damage when we found him."

"Wow." George said. He shook his head and also pushed away his food. "I just learned about seizures from _The Prophet._ They've been becoming more common and no one knows why."

"They know why." Harry said, realizing that his hands were quivering and wiped his fingers on a napkin before settling them in his lap. "People have a tendency to break into fits of madness after being exposed to Unforgivables too much. Mostly from the _Cruciatus."_ He shuddered. "We learned about it during Auror training. They are never classified as seizures but that's exactly what they are."

No one continuing eating after that except for Alice. No one talked about Malfoy or the War either. Alice was ready to ask Harry and Hermione to identify photographs in her book but George stopped her.

"I'm tired and they are too. Come on, Alice, I'll take you home."

"Hang on." Harry reached for the book of photographs. "I will need to let Robards look at this. Do you mind if I borrow it?"

Alice pulled the album closer to herself and therefore out of his reach. "Actually, yes, I do mind. This is classified evidence. I can't just give it to you."

He should have figured she would say that. The data she had collected in the little album had been her magnum opus.

"Right." He pulled his arms back. "We'll eventually have to get you to speak with the Auror department."

"That will be fun." George grumbled sarcastically.

"Harry's right, George, the Aurors need to know everything about this! I'm shocked you haven't told anyone about it sooner! There's some crazy person digging up graves and leaving bodies around!"

"Hey, I only learned the whole thing a few days ago! And I owled Harry about it right away!"

"He did." Harry spoke. "I told Robards about it as soon as I could. He didn't believe me so the photographs would have been a nice incentive."

Harry had many a colorful word to share about his new boss but didn't have the energy to get into it. Telling the older Auror that Fred Weasley's body had been confiscated by the Muggles had awarded Harry with extra paper work and a cold sneer.

"Well, I'd be honored to meet with them as long as my memory stays intact. However, since the first person I spoke with was George's father, who also works for the magical government, I assumed they already knew about it."

Harry gave Alice a puzzled look. "You talked to Arthur first?"

She nodded. "He came to my office to discuss the death of Jiles Yellowby. He said he had heard rumors of a mysterious body being found and pointed me down the path of meeting George."

"Dad sought you out?" George also seemed confused. "I thought you interrogated him on your own!"

"No." She started picking up the plates and stacking them for Hermione. "He was the one that helped me get into Diagon Alley after I told him of your brother's remains showing up on the bank of the Themes. And is that really what it's called? Diagonally? You all name things so strangely. Quid itch and hog warts."

"This just keeps getting weirder." Hermione said. "Arthur was acting very strange at work the other day. He was having problems remembering things."

George waved her comment away. "Nah, Dad's always been a bit off."

"But to find out about Fred and then not tell anyone about it? That seems rather bizarre to me." Hermione had her arms crossed. For a moment they all watched George, expecting him to say something, but he ended up excusing himself from the table and escorting Alice to the door.

"It's been an evening." He gave Hermione a quick hug at the foyer. "Not necessarily a good one but I'm still glad I came. If Malfoy gives you any grief don't hesitate to Floo me straight away. I have no qualms with strangling the ferret." George winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Tell him he's a ferret to his face and see what happens."

"Oh I will. Take care, Hermione. Harry."

"Bye, George. Goodnight, Alice." Harry waved to the Weasley twin and the blonde girl as they strolled out of the front yard and into the muggy December night.

"Well, she's different." Hermione stated after the two were gone.

"Different is a nice way to put it." Harry smirked.

"You think they'll last long?"

"I doubt it. Although who am I to know anything about romance."

"Same goes for me." She shook her head. "I don't know, Harry, she gives me a weird feeling. Besides the whole murder detective thing she just seems a bit off."

Harry shrugged. "I know. But George really is smitten with her."

"I guess. Go home, Harry. I need to go to bed and sober up before I have to work tomorrow."

"Drinking on a Sunday night. Brilliant idea."

She gave a snort laugh. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Night." He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders tighter and dislodged his scarf from his pocket.

"Oh, and Harry, don't tell Ron about Malfoy."

"I wasn't going to." He glared at her. "Malfoy's really fucked up, Hermione. Telling Ron about his problems is the last thing he needs. I'm actually quite worried about him. You tell me if he needs anything."

She lifted her eyebrows and giggled.

"What?!"

"Nothing, it's just strange to see you worried about Malfoy. Sounds like you might fancy him a bit!"

Harry flushed scarlet. "That isn't funny! He's really….I can't believe you!"

She bent over her knees in laughter. "You fall for that one every time!"

The ongoing joke since sixth year that Harry had feelings for Malfoy had started out harmless and was ending brutal.

"I hate you. I'm leaving now." Harry threw his scarf around his neck and pulled up the hood of his cloak. He wasn't sober enough to Apparate home and he prefered to walk a bit. Hermione didn't shut the front door until he had made it to the end of her narrow street and turned the corner.

 _God dammit, Malfoy._ He thought. _Why do you always make things difficult?_

Somewhere in his head Harry imagined the Slytherin answering him.

 _Because you like it that way, don't you, Potter?_

Harry swore to himself he would never let George make him drink so much ever again.


	13. Chapter 13

There were very few people left alive that Ron could legitimately admit to being frightened of. Ferdinand Nott was one of them.

He had once been a handsome wizard, Ron had seen the photos, but the man the guards dragged into the courtroom was a gaunt skeleton. Only his striking blue eyes reflected the grandeur the Death Eater once held.

"Ferdinand Isaac Nott." Gawain Robards announced the prisoner. "Arrested on the fifth of June, nineteen hundred and ninety six for multiple counts of casting the _Cruciatus_ and four known deaths caused by _Avada Kedavra._ The individual is also accused of association and participation with the dark wizard contingency known as The Death Eaters under the leadership of one Tom Molvero Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort."

Nott startled from the sound of someone addressing him. Ron figured it had been months since the man had heard a human voice.

"Yes." Nott rasped out his answer and coughed, his vocal chords sore from lack of use.

"Excellent. Do you know why we've brought you here today?"

The Death Eater took his time answering. His blue gaze flickered over the crowd watching him. The courtroom was dark. Only one light shone down on the captive prisoner on display before them. Even so, Ron believed the man could identify the shadowed forms around him. His eyes narrowed on Robards for a moment before settling on Harry sitting at Ron's left. Harry twitched under the icy stare until Nott moved on to examine the others in the room. On the bench in front of Ron and Harry, Lucius Malfoy fumbled with his robes as his colleague in arms glared up at him from the chains. There were twelve other men present for Nott to ponder over, most of whom were Aurors. The last person to come under Nott's watch was his son, Theodore, who sat beside Malfoy. Unlike the others, Theodore glared back at his father unmoving, no hint of fear in his stature.

"No." Ferdinand Nott replied in answer.

"Really? Very well then, as of three days prior we recently have suffered from a cast Dark Mark over King's Cross Train Station here in London. At the same time your son, Theodore, was subject to a summoning via the Mark on his arm. It was a rather violent summoning, deadly even, and more intense than any we've seen in years."

Ferdinand Nott didn't make any move to say anything after Robards' description. In fact, the man looked rather bored. Besides his emaciated appearance, Nott could have been going to trial for a routine businesses deal instead of a full blown dark magic assault on his only child.

"Do you know anything about these events?" Robards snapped after realizing that Nott was not going to speak.

"I do not."

"Are you sure?"

"If you are suggesting that this may be my doing you'll remember that I have been in Azkaban for the past twenty months with no wand." Nott said rather snarkily. "The magic for either of those offenses would have need of one."

Robards bristled at the prisoner's brashness. "I am aware. But the court wishes to hear if you have any knowledge on the events."

"I don't. If you want to know more you'll need to question the boy, not me."

Theodore didn't seem phased at being addressed as merely 'the boy' but Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Ron shot his friend a warning glare. Harry probably wasn't headstrong enough to talk down to a Death Eater on trial but stranger things had happened.

"Your son has already undergone questioning. To his credit, he has no recollection of why he was chosen to be summoned."

Robards' idea of questioning Theodore Nott had included nothing short of a brutal interrogation. Ron had not been present for the ordeal but from what he had heard even Barty Crouch might have been offended. Theodore had been fed Veritaserum and handcuffed in his hospital bed thirty minutes after surviving a near heart attack.

"Theodore did mention some interesting facts about the death of your wife eight years ago."

Ron widened his eyes. Beside him, Harry leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Did you hear about that?"

Ron shook his head.

"Did he?" Nott the elder glanced elegantly at his boy. "No doubt you forced him to tell you that. Information isn't always correct when it's pulled from someone against their will."

Others in the group had started to whisper. Robards shushed them with a slam of his gavel.

"I would advise you to hold your tongue, Mr. Nott. As for your son, Theodore gracefully explained that his mother didn't die in an accident but that she was murdered, by you."

More whispers erupted around the room. Harry elbowed Ron in the ribs then gestured to Lucius Malfoy with his chin. Malfoy's nervous fumbling had switched to hard anger. He had one hand on Theo's shoulder while the other clasped his cane with white knuckles. Theodore himself remained calm from where Ron could see him.

"That's an awful steep accusation, Mr. Robards." Nott cooly snarled. He was addressing the head Auror but his expression was entirely leveled at his son. "Do you have any proof?"

"We have an eye witness testimony." Robards replied.

"Indeed, eye witness testimony from a boy who was twelve at the time."

Theodore stood after his father's denial. "You killed her! I was there! You smashed her head in with a vase! Afterwards you made me tell everyone she fell down the stairs!"

The whispering ended instantaneously. Ron shared a long glance with Harry as Malfoy urged Theodore to sit back down.

"Why kill your wife, Ferdinand?" Robards continued. "Was she unfaithful?"

The first sign of true anger flashed the older Death Eater's features. Ron felt his insides crumble a bit.

"No." The man crooned. "Elsa was a wonderful wife and a loving mother. Not a day goes by that I don't mourn her passing."

Ron wondered if Ferdinand had been forced to drink the truth potion. He would believe he had, but the way he was able to allude questions so well made Ron curious.

"Then what happened, Nott?"

"She disobeyed me." The flat answer with no hint at denial made Ron quiver.

"Disobeyed you how?"

"I am not at liberty to answer that question."

Robards was reddening in the face as the men around him began to chatter.

"How….?"

"Veritaserum is ineffective to an unbreakable vow, Mr. Robards. If I could tell you what my wife did, I would, but physically I cannot." His answer was plain and dull as white paint on drywall. A strange eeriness flooded the room and Robards ordered the guards to take Nott away after sentencing him to his second life sentence in Azkaban.

Nott didn't say a word as they pulled him out of the room. He gave a sad half smile and a nod in the direction of Theodore who watched the men drag his father away forever.

They left the room in a single file. Robards lead the group, the majority following him into the hall. Ron watched the mass of Aurors assist Theodore into a room next to the trial proceedings. Harry and Ron were ordered to return upstairs.

"I'm beginning to think that the Slytherins really suffered the most in the long run." Harry said as they entered the lift and began their ascent upstairs. "I mean, I thought my mum's death was pretty terrible but after hearing that I'm not so sure."

Ron gaped at him. It wasn't often that Harry brought up his mother let alone in the middle of a lift full of Ministry workers.

"It's apples and oranges, mate. You can't compare one to the other." Ron tried to reassure his friend.

"Right." Harry plastered a forced smile onto his face. "Apples and oranges."

He didn't mention anything else about the trial for the remainder of the evening. This concerned Ron considerably more than had Harry chewed his ears off about the subject.

When he suggested they Floo home together at the end of the day, Ron was a bit surprised when Harry refused.

"I have some errands I have to get done." He said from his seat at Tonks' old desk. Harry had dusted the cubicle and organized it but still kept the ugly purple lamp and other decorations the Metamorphmagus had left.

"What sort of errands? I could tag along."

"Uh, maybe not tonight. It's just….um….I need to do some things on my own. Sorry."

Ron had the vague idea that the things Harry wanted to do on his own involved making sure Theodore Nott got home alright. Harry had been the one to take the young Death Eater to the hospital and to return him to Malfoy Manor afterwards practically unconscious. It had been a week and Harry was still trying to sneak to Hermione's office as much as possible to check up on Nott. When Ron had teased him about obsessing over the tall Slytherin with the dreamy blue eyes, Harry had almost bit his head off.

 _He was barely able to speak the other day! I had to hold him up to side along Apparate him home. Hell, he didn't even know who I was! Kept calling me Harvey._ Harry had yelled Ron to deafness during their ten minute lunch break.

 _But you don't have to follow him everywhere._

 _I'm not! I just…..you have to admit it isn't fair to make him go back to work two days later! What? Stop looking at me like that! Fuck you! This has nothing to do with his eyes!_

Ron wasn't going to tell Harry that he was barking up the wrong tree. But Harry was definitely barking up the wrong tree.

"Alright, enjoy your 'errands'." He sighed. "But try not to fall too deep, Harry."

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

As soon as Ron left the Auror department he felt guilty. He really should have insisted Harry come home with him. A nagging itch beneath his skull made him wonder if Nott confessing to bashing his wife's brains out with a vase had troubled Harry more than anyone else. His old friend had a need to suck up all the horrible things that happened to others and commiserate over them. Also, hadn't Harry's uncle died that week? Maybe the great Muggle's death meant more to Harry than he put on.

Furious at himself for his teasing, Ron rushed back to Tonks' cubicle only to find that Harry was already gone.

"Shite!" He swore and kicked the wall of the tiny room hard enough to make the objects inside shake.

"You just missed him." A singsong voice airily fluttered into his ear. "I think Harry was headed to a pub. You might be able to catch him if you run."

Ron turned to see a golden blond mess of curls materialize beside him.

"Oh." He tripped over his shoes in such a way that he thought Tonks herself may have been proud were she still around. "Hello, Luna."

"I like your shoes. They look like good kicking shoes. You could really do some damage with those."

Ron looked down to examine the faded leather oxfords he had gotten from Percy two years ago; used, obviously.

"Uh, thanks. What makes you think he was going to a pub?"

Luna smiled at Ron's shoes while she admired them. "He was pulling out a pouch of coins but when I asked him where he was going to get supper he said he wasn't hungry. Where else would he be going with money?"

"Maybe Gringotts? He said he had errands."

"I can't think of many places that are open this late besides pubs. Gringotts closed four hours ago."

Realizing that she was right, Ron frowned. Over the past week Harry had been drunk at least twice already.

"Fuck, I better find him. Do you think he went to the Leaky?"

Luna blinked and beamed. "He could have. May I come with you?"

Ron didn't have the heart to tell her no. If he was being completely truthful with himself, he rather appreciated her offer. But that was just because he was worried about Harry and it was good to have another person there for support. There of course was no other reason why he would want Luna to be there. Right?

"Did you ever find the vampire squirrels?" He asked her on their way to the Floo network hub. He marched as fast as he could. Luna impressively kept pace with him despite her shorter legs and smaller form.

"No. Hagrid must have been mistaken. Whatever is killing the birds in the Forbidden Forest has to be a lot bigger than a squirrel. Also, squirrels are native to North America. It would be weird to see them here."

"Logically." He tried to speak with a straight face.

The long hall of fireplaces was mostly deserted minus the few other late night workers. Ron thanked the stars that Hermione wasn't there. His ex girlfriend had been keeping the same hours as him which made running into her more common.

He chose the closest available fireplace and reached for the urn of Floo powder above it.

"I think I should get some kicking shoes too." Luna commented. He shook his head and smiled as he offered her the urn.

"Ladies first."

Two fistfuls of powder and three seconds later they both had flopped into one another on the filthy tavern floor of the Leaky Cauldron. The little establishment was packed with dozens of witches and wizards escaping the winter evening with a nip and a good chat. No one even looked over their shoulder at the sound of two people stumbling out of the hearth. Ron had landed on top of Luna's chest, his face mere centimeters away from her neck.

"SORRY!" He shoved himself to his feet while his ears smoldered with embarrassment. They were certainly betraying him in their red outstanding glory.

Luna gracefully reached for his hand to pull herself up. He didn't think twice about offering it to her until she continued to clasp onto his palm long after she had rose from the floor.

"I don't think Harry is here." She bit her lip while scanning the room.

He wasn't. Ron triple checked but there was no messy black haired kid with glasses around. Perhaps it had been a long shot to check the Leaky first.

"No." He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Since we're already here we could get a drink." Luna suggested. Ron pulled his hand out of her fingers.

"No." He said again. Her face fell from the rejection and he tried to soften his tone as he explained himself. "I'm really worried about him. He was very upset earlier with stuff that's going on at work. Maybe I should go home and wait up for him."

"Oh." She shuffled her feet sadly. "I hope he's alright."

She meant it too. Ron could see the tender look of concern grace her features. He appreciated that she didn't push him to dive into it more.

"You could come with me if you like." He offered.

 _What the hell, idiot!?_ He silently thought. _Planning on getting a leg over while your best mate's out drinking himself to death?_

He squelched his inner voice and found himself smiling as Luna linked her arm with his. It had been Harry's idea that he make a move on the Lovegood girl after all.

They walked out the door together into Diagon Alley. Ron noted that Luna was a touch taller than Hermione. She fit nicely against his shoulder with her eyes at height with his chin. He really needed to stop looking at her eyes.

"Should we Apparate there?" Luna interrupted his meandering mind.

"Huh? Oh, right. Yes. Sorry I was just flying on autobroom for a minute." He laughed. Feeling like an dolt since he had been the one to insist they head to his house so soon, Ron pulled out his wand and went through the motions of Apparating them to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry wasn't there either. Luna knew that immediately somehow but it took about twenty minutes to make sure since he felt the need to check almost every room in the building.

"Don't blame yourself, Ron." She said from her seat at the parlor couch. He paced around the room frantically, his robes billowing behind him impressively.

"It's getting really late!" He brushed a quivering sweaty hand through his hair. "Why didn't I just talk to him more at work?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you may be overreacting a little."

Ron moved to face her, stopping just in front of her feet and snarling. "Really!? Did you know they found a cast Dark Mark over Muggle London on Wednesday?!"

Luna paled and scooted back from him.

" _No…"_

Ron frowned. How would she have known? The papers had conveniently left that bit of information out. Nor did anyone seem to care that Fred's body had been discovered a few weeks ago in somewhere completely opposite of his resting place.

He backed away a tad and started to shiver. She watched him for a moment, reading what must have been a clammy and faint looking expression.

"Sit with me." She commanded, gently reaching for his hand which was still clutched tightly in his bangs.

Ron complied and nearly collapsed onto the couch beside her.

"I'm guessing that Auror work isn't a bed of roses." Luna ventured. "Especially for Harry and you. I'm sure everyone expected things to settle down after the War but there's still two decades worth of shit to clear up."

He sharply turned his head to her after hearing her swear. She smiled gently.

"I can't tell you that everything is going to get better and that Harry will be fine. He never will be. Not completely." She lifted a hand to brush his bangs out of his face. Ron shuddered from the touch. Her fingers were soft and warm. "But having a breakdown every time he doesn't come home from work isn't good for you."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to explain how Theodore Nott had almost died in Harry's arms, how the Mark had been casted six blocks away from their house, and that he was a numbskull to let The Chosen One walk the neighborhood at night by himself.

He also sort of wanted to kiss her.

He didn't get the chance to. Instead of kissing the girl Ron sat there like a git for ten minutes while she stroked his hair and hummed off tune to herself. His head had snuggled into her shoulder and his eyes had closed by the time Harry finally crashed through the Floo and onto the parlor floor.

"Good evening!" The man belted as he somersaulted into their feet. "Why hello, Luna. Fancy seeing you here." He chuckled and winked up at her as he lay down completely on the rug. A harsh scent of grain alcohol permeated from Harry's clothes as he moved.

Ron stood to his full height and awarded Harry with the most angry face he could muster; channeling a glare he had gleaned from his mother over the years.

"Do you know what time it is?! Where the hell have you been?!"

Harry sat up a bit and blinked at him. "It's not even midnight yet. Gods, what's your problem?"

"My problem is that you told me you had to run errands but you obviously went out to get plastered!" He pointed to the window. "Did it occur to you at all that there are dark wizards about casting Dark Marks and summoning each other!"

"Of course it did! Why do you think I needed to get drunk?"

"So you can get killed, obviously."

Harry bristled at his comment and swayed dangerously to his feet.

"Fuck you, Ron!"

Not thinking it through, Ron shoved his friend hard with both hands into the fireplace behind him, forgetting that he was a good stone heavier than Harry these days and quite a bit stronger.

A resounding crack echoed through the room from Harry's skull colliding with the wood of the mantle. Luna gasped and pushed past him to bend over Harry who was sitting on the ground looking dazed.

Ron felt like his lungs had stopped working. A ghastly image of Elsa Nott having her cranium beaten apart flashed through his mind's eye.

"FUCK!" He rushed to his friend's side and examined Harry's head with his fingers. There was a slight swelling where the mantle had met his skull, but Ron's hands came back with no blood on them. "Harry, I am so, so, sorry! Are you alright?" Harry didn't say anything. Terrified that his friend had gone unconscious, Ron moved so he was eye to eye with him. "Harry?"

The look he got out of Harry's face was pure hatred. The two of them had had rows before but never had it come to violence. Sheer sour malice reeked from the smaller man's narrowed green gaze and Ron swallowed. He was so distracted with how awful he felt that he didn't see Harry's fist pull back until it smashed into the side of his jaw.

He had to admit that he deserved that.

"Get out!" Harry bellowed before Ron had a chance to regain his bearings. "Both of you! Get out of my house!"

Luna had attempted to get between them but Harry was elbowing her out of the way to sneer Ron down. It must have looked pitiful with them all hunched on their knees on the floor.

"Get your stuff and go, Ron, and don't come back!"

Well, the evening at least couldn't get any worse. Harry disappeared upstairs in a staggering rage. His head seemed to be okay but Ron still worried. He was good at worrying.

He wished Luna goodnight and insisted she Floo herself home. She tried to get him to come with her.

"But, where are you going to go?" The blond girl asked as she trailed him up to his room. It was a relevant question.

"I have brothers, don't I?" He responded without looking at her. "I'm sure one of them could put me up for a bit. Go home, Luna. I'll be fine."

He wasn't in the mood to be polite enough to walk her to the fireplace. Instead he gave her a halfhearted wave and watched her retreat down the stairs

Ron emptied his dresser, threw his clothing in a knapsack and stripped his quilt from the lopsided bed.

 _Just go talk to him._ He thought. _It's Harry. He'll forgive you. He always does! Don't cry!_

He did cry though. Only a little. Enough to get his cheeks wet and his eyes all puffy. His little bedroom with its iron stove and dark wood floors suddenly didn't feel like his anymore. He stuffed the quilt into the knapsack and left.

Down the hall he stood stationary in front of Harry's door for maybe five minutes or more, one palm on the worn wooden frame while the other clutched his bag.

"Goodbye." He managed to croak out without shedding more tears. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to hurt you."

There was no answer. He didn't stay much longer to wait for one.

Ron Flooed to George's flat. Bill was in France visiting Fleur's family, Ginny was in Scotland, Charlie in Romania, and there was no way he wanted to see Percy any more than he already had to at work. He had no interest in dropping in on his parents in the middle of the night either. It was always George in the end.

"Hello?" He slowly detangled himself from the hearth and stepped into the dark living room. The flat his brother owned above the joke shop was a small space with two bedrooms, no dining room, and a tiny kitchen. Ron dumped his things on the couch he had slept on a few nights ago back when he and Harry had visited George earlier that week. Back when he and Harry were still friends.

 _Don't cry!_

"Ron?" George padded into the room in his nightclothes and turned on the lamp. The golden orange glow added a soothing warmth to the room and Ron eased himself to the couch.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you. Could I stay here tonight?" He gasped a bit from half a sob. He must have sounded pretty wretched because George didn't tease him for once.

"What's wrong?" His brother yawned and moved to sit on the couch. As soon as he did his relaxed squinty eyed appearance snapped to terror; a reflex left over from the War. "Shite, what happened to your face!?"

Ron let out a sigh. "Harry hit me."

"What!?"

"I...I think he hates me now. I pushed him first. I got mad at him and shoved his head really hard into a wooden beam."

"Why? Are you nine again?" He snorted and let himself loosen his posture, probably relieved that Ron hadn't been attacked by dark wizards. "Remember when you pushed me into a table and broke my collarbone."

Ron's cheeks prickled with a slight smile. "Yeah, you and Fred locked Scabbers in a sock drawer for hours! I thought he ran away!"

"Fucking Scabbers. Do you ever think about how that man shared a bed with you all those years and…."

"George stop!"

"and all those times you wanked off with him there?"

"Aughhh gross!" Ron shoved the knapsack into George's stomach.

"Ouch!" He unzipped the bag and upended all of Ron's belongings onto the floor.

"Hey!"

"Wow, you packed everything. He must be furious with you. Kicked you out for good, didn't he?"

 _No crying! Keep it together._

It was too late. Ron let out a silent wail and the drops fell down his face before he could stop himself.

"Woah." An arm draped over Ron's shoulders as George pulled him into a side embrace. "That bad, huh? That's so weird. Harry was just here and he seemed perfectly fine."

"What?" Ron wiped his face. "Why was he here?"

His brother shrugged. "We went out for drinks after he got done with work. I was wondering why he didn't invite you. I guess being mad at you would do it."

Ron slowly started putting the pieces together. Luna had said Harry was going to a pub. For some reason, The Boy Who Lived had decided to meet up with his brother to get plastered but not Ron. And hadn't both the other times he had been shitfaced been under George's watch as well?

"You got him drunk!" Ron removed his brother's arm from his shoulders and scowled at the man.

George laughed. "Yeah, Harry's a huge lightweight. He barely finished his second drink before he was slurring his speech and spilling all over himself."

"You got him drunk!" Ron repeated.

"Is that a crime?"

The possibility of breaking George's collarbone again was starting to sound appealing.

"Did he tell you about the Dark Mark?"

The twin had been about to go on a rant about how letting Harry destroy his stomach lining with alcohol was beneficial, only to stop mid word and return to his terrified expression.

"Guess he didn't tell you." Ron's voice hurt from the crying but he described the events that unfolded at the Ministry that day with every detail.

"He didn't mention anything to you?" He was starting to question Harry's odd behavior of late.

George shook his head. He also looked confused on Harry's actions. "Seems like he keeps things to himself a lot. Didn't tell me about the Dark Mark or about Nott. Didn't tell you about Malfoy."

"What about Malfoy?"

His brother started giggling like a small child that had just learned its first knock knock joke. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And Malfoy made us swear to secrecy. Still, I would have thought Harry would have at least shared it with you."

Ron was mortified at George's words. Malfoy had been missing for weeks. If he and Harry had spoken with him they needed to tell the Ministry.

"You know where Malfoy is?"

"Yeah. Man I wish I could tell you! The look on your face would make my month."

Ron crossed his arms and sat up straight so he could use his height to look down at George. The only thing Ron had over any of his brothers was that he was the tallest. Percy came close but even if he was the youngest, Ron had the advantage on the height department. Especially over George who was just a tad taller than Ginny.

"You have to tell me! Malfoy's a declared missing person."

"No can do! Sorry, little brother."

This didn't make any sense. Why was he protecting Draco Malfoy of all people?

"George!"

"You're going to have to ask Harry. Or better yet, talk to Hermione about it. What I would give to be a fly on the wall during that conversation."

It was beginning to sound like George was making up the Malfoy story. It was likely this was just a ploy to get Ron to talk to Harry and Hermione again.

"Whatever." Ron reached for his pajamas and other clothes that had been tossed on the floor. "I should try to get some sleep. Need to get to work early tomorrow."

"Right." George let loose a mighty yawn that stretched his face to the maximum. "Me too. I'll get you a pillow. You can sleep in Fred's room."

Ron didn't want to sleep in Fred's old bed. He changed his clothes after being given a clean pillow and set of sheets for the couch. George wished him sweet dreams and punched him affectionately on shoulder.

"Don't worry too much, yeah. Harry will come back around. He needs you."

"He doesn't _need_ me."

"Well, the poor bloke doesn't really have anyone else. Besides Hermione you're the only family he's got. He isn't going to make it in that giant house all by himself. He'll go mental."

Ron didn't want to imagine Harry sleeping all alone in his godfather's dark empty house with only Kreacher for company. He wrapped his quilt tightly around himself and curled into the couch cushions. Ron's mum had made him the quilt when he turned ten. The little cloth stitched squares were embroidered with dozens of tiny letter 'R's to match the jumpers his mum always made him. Even the couch reminded him of his mum. Before she had given it to the twins for their new flat, the squishy orange sofa had graced his mother's den for nearly thirty years. It had been a wedding gift to his parents long before Ron was born.

These should have been comforting memories. Instead, Ron could only contrast them to Harry's misfortune. The one thing he knew of that Harry had received from his parents had been his father's invisibility cloak. The cloak had been useful but surely wasn't a cozy quilt that still held a lingering scent of his mother's perfume.

He listened to George's footsteps retreat into one of the nearby bedrooms and shut off the lamp. A few years ago Ron may have been furious with Harry in this situation, but now he didn't know how to feel except miserable. He would have to face the man tomorrow at work.

He threw the quilt over his head and buried his face in the pillow. Sleep didn't come easy that night.


	14. Chapter 14

It took a week and a few more days for Nott to speak to her after his incident. Hermione passed his desk every morning, greeted him, inquired about his health, and even brought him a card on his third day back to work. He didn't acknowledge any of her kindness and she wasn't surprised. The quiet young man was probably extremely embarrassed that he had fallen to pieces in her arms. She wondered how much of the event Nott even remembered, although she was certain he'd never tell her.

So when Theodore Nott opened up to her nine days later, Hermione didn't know how to respond.

It was mid-afternoon when he interrupted her work. Nott walked into her office calmly and sat down on the couch before her desk.

"Ms. Granger? If you have a moment I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you?"

She had been chewing on her quill with her nose down in an old manuscript about Muggle business interactions when he spoke. It was too dull to even pretend she wanted to read it.

"Theodore?" She slammed the manuscript closed. "You're talking to me? I mean...of course, what do you need?"

The last time he had spoken to her and asked for a favor she had ended up letting Draco Malfoy live in her house. Malfoy was a nuisance of a house guest, but if the alternative was letting him rot in the hospital she couldn't complain.

"Nothing serious." He reassured her. "I was just curious if you were going to the New Year's ball at Gringotts. If so, maybe we could go together?" He flashed a genuine smile. She'd never seen him do that before. He had dimples. Rather nice dimples at that.

Hermione dropped her quill and it rolled off the desk and onto the floor. "Oops!" She bent under the desk to fetch it.

"Are you alright?"

She retrieved her quill and righted herself into the chair. One curl had fallen stubbornly out of her ponytail into her face. Hermione shoved it behind her ear.

"Fine." She told him.

"Good. From what I've gathered you are no longer courting Arthur Weasley's son. Is that correct?"

If he had bombarded her with hexes and mustard gas she would have been less shocked.

"Are you asking me on a date?" She blinked at him.

Theodore laughed a little, another cheerful expression she had never seen him do. It caused her insides to flip oddly. He slouched back on the couch before speaking again.

"It would seem that way."

"Why? I'm sorry, but since when do Death Eaters go to formal dances with Muggle borns?" She asked him. It was hard to believe he wasn't playing a joke on her.

He laughed again. "I'm not my father. I also think I owe you a nice dinner after all you've done for Draco."

Hermione clenched her jaw at the mention of Malfoy. "Then maybe Draco should be buying me dinner, not you."

"The sky will fall apart before Draco Malfoy brings a Muggle born out for dinner. Sorry, love."

He called her love? Maybe she should start wearing something nicer to work other than her frumpy old dress robes.

"Well?" He asked her.

"Well what?"

"Would you go with me?"

She watched his handsome smile and waited for the 'just kidding' to hit her. When it didn't she found herself nodding.

"Tell me," Theodore scratched his cheek and leaned forward, "would you have considered going to the ball at all if I didn't ask you?"

She frowned. "Probably not. Balls aren't really my thing."

Theodore sighed. "Here's my dilema, Ms. Granger. You have all the criteria but not the final push to get through. Do you know what I mean?"

She shook her head. What on earth was he talking about?

"It's that you could climb impeccably high in this organization. I'd even argue that you have a shot at Minster of Magic. Landing head of the department before twenty five is outstanding and praiseworthy but it seems you don't have the stones to go the few extra meters to get the Quaffle into the goal post, so to speak."

Hermione shook her head, freeing the curl behind her ear back into her face. "You can't be serious. Minister of Magic? ME!?"

"Exactly my point." Nott lifted both palms to her to emphasize his statement. "You don't even realize your potential!"

Her current position was stressful and time consuming enough as it is. A higher standing at the Ministry, even one far below Minister, would be even worse.

"I don't think I could do that."

Realizing her hesitation, Theodore stood and walked to her desk. He put his hands on the flat surface and leaned in so he was at eye level.

"Hermione," Her first name sounded like a wind chime on his tongue, "the people around you have already pushed you up this far. Can't you see that they want you to do this?"

"But…"

"We've never had a Muggle born Minister, nor a female one. You would be making history. Think about all the changes you could make for the greater good of the magical community!"

He was extremely close to her; uncomfortably close. If she moved her head forward a speck she would bump foreheads with him. Hermione pushed her chair back a tad to give her some breathing space.

"I'm not saying you're wrong," she began, "but I don't think I want to be Minister."

He shrugged. "That's a shame. You'd be tremendous at it."

Her cheeks felt hot from his compliment and he grinned at her.

"Uh…"

"I'll help you, of course. All you need to do is keep up with your book work and I'll help you with the schmoozing and the social events. If all climbing the ladder takes is rubbing shoulders with the right people at a company ball, then we can get you up that ladder in no time."

Her mood deflated like a popped balloon animal. It appeared he only was taking her out to the ball in hopes of negotiating the politics of the Ministry. There really wasn't anything romantic behind Theodore's date proposal.

"As a Muggle born you probably have little experience in the social standing of wizards. I've been trained since I could walk how to dance nicely and talk elegantly to overstuffed heads at parties." Nott rolled his eyes. "You can thank my delightful father for that." He said sarcastically.

She crossed her arms and squinted at him. "So, you want to groom me for the position." The more he talked the more slimy she felt. "Somehow I feel this must be benefiting you more than me"

He lifted a hand from the desk and pointed at himself. "Slytherin. That's what I do. Did you learn anything from Slughorn? Think of this as one of his little parties. I'm helping you get ahead, but at the same time I get pushed forward as well."

When she scowled at him even worse he laughed again.

"At least I'm being honest about it!" He told her. "Without you I'm just a Death Eater." He pulled down his sleeve to display the black angry tattoo on his forearm. It was still blacker than Draco's but a little lighter than nine days ago. "The son of a murderer who's being summoned by unknown forces and headed for Azkaban tomorrow if I'm not careful." He pulled his sleeve back over the Mark gruffly. "But you, Lady Gryffindor, can save me."

She gawked at him and released a sniff of a laugh.

"You know I'm right." He continued. "It's a win-win situation, Hermione. We both need each other."

She would have preferred that he asked her to go because he thought she was pretty. Instead it felt like a backwards business deal.

"I guess." She sighed and unfolded her arms.

"Oh, don't look so disappointed." He chided her as he moved for the office door. "I look very fetching in a tuxedo. And just think," he gave her the biggest smile yet, "you could be going with Ronald Weasley instead! He'd probably be wearing those same frilly robes he wore to the Yule Ball fourth year!"

Hermione snarled at the back of Theodore's head as he left her office. She wanted to scold him for his comment about Ron but the idea of seeing Nott in a tuxedo was too distracting.


	15. Chapter 15

"You can't call them instant noodles if you don't make them instantly."

"How do you mean?"

"This bull crap of waiting two minutes for them to cook isn't instant. I should be able to snap my fingers and have an already finished product."

"If you're going to complain you can starve. I'll eat the noodles without you."

George poked at the paper cup filled with half cooked pasta and hot water. It smelled intriguing but he still wasn't excited about it.

"Do you really eat this every day?"

Alice was frantically cleaning her kitchen. It had been a little rude of him to stop by without warning and now the woman was dashing about, scrubbing dishes and putting things away. He'd told her three times he could care less about the state of her flat. He even found it endearing that the detective was a bit of a slob. Someone who spent most of her day at work had little free time to keep a kitchen clean. George could empathize with that.

"Some of us have busy lives and don't have time to make soup from scratch all the time." She snapped from behind a discolored baking sheet she was trying to scour by hand.

"You must cook a little." He pointed out the array of dirty baking utensils strewn about the counter beside her.

"Yes. Sometimes. Next time give me an estimate of your arrival time and I can make you something better than that."

"Better than this? Impossible!" He dunked his fork into the cup shaped brick of noodles which still were too hard to break apart. "And if you started cooking for me regularly I would be reminded too much of my mother. That's part of the reason I like you so much. Because you are the exact opposite of the woman who raised me."

He smiled like the Cheshire cat at a comedy club but Alice didn't even look at him.

"Is your mother a good cook?" She asked him.

George nodded. "If you have six sons you kind of become a decent cook by default. And she didn't just cook for us, mind you, we often had guests over. Mum can cook up a storm if need be. Using magic helps a lot, of course."

"That must have been nice. I wish my family had eaten meals together." She turned the faucet on and rinsed the flat sheet of metal she had been scrubbing.

"Your mum doesn't cook?"

Immediately he wished he hadn't asked. Alice's usual stale face was deeply saddened. It was as if he had asked if her mother had died.

"No, not anymore. She never really did but after the divorce she stopped completely. My stepmum was better at it but I wasn't over for dinner much after Dad married her."

"That's understandable." He watched her put the tray in the drying rack. "Sounds like you aren't a fan of your stepmother."

Could he make her feel even worse? Yes he could. Damn, he was good at making women miserable. George stood up to join her at the sink.

"Nevermind, don't answer that." He told her.

"It's alright." She had started scrubbing a pot rather than take the action of facing him. "It's not that my stepmum is a bad person. She's rather amazing, actually. She takes good care of my father and her kids."

"Ah."

Alice let the pot go into the soapy interior of the sink basin. She dropped her hands in the warm water and slowly ran her fingers over the handles of the pot. "My father isn't well."

Great. He had somehow upheaved some sort of family trauma she didn't need to share. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, this is important. Hell, I know enough about your family history you can know a little about mine."

George put a hand on her hip and pulled her toward him so her back fit against his chest. His chin rested on her shoulder and he waited for her to continue.

"Dad has early onset dementia. It started about five years ago." She said rather flatly while wetting a sponge in one hand.

"Onset what?"

"Dementia. I guess you don't have that in the wizarding world."

"Not that I know of."

"It means his memories are gone. He doesn't know who he is or who any of us are. Sometimes he can't even remember how to put his own clothes on." She squeezed out the sponge and dunked it back in the water only to remove it again to squeeze.

George recalled Harry's tragic story of his encounter with the Longbottom's at St. Mungo's. "I have heard of that happening to people before. Usually from some sort of curse though. I didn't know it could happen to Muggle's too." He wrapped both his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry about your Dad."

She shrugged. "It is what it is. I miss him."

They stood like that for a few minutes, him holding her and her continuing to stare into the sink and mash the sponge between her hands.

"I should tell you," she continued suddenly, "I'm pretty sure it was a curse." He could feel the rumble of her voice through her lungs against his chest. "That did my father in, that is."

George reached for her hands and pulled the sponge from her fingers. He lifted her palms out of the water and walked her backwards from the dishes. "Sit down. I'll get you a towel." He could have charmed the moisture off her skin but figured it was a good time not to use magic.

She sat at the kitchen table after he handed her a dish towel and took the chair beside her. Alice still wouldn't look at him. She rubbed the towel in and out of her fingers the same as she did with the sponge.

"So, you were saying?" He prompted her.

"I think it was a curse. Well, now that I've learned more about wizards and such I guess it was more of an attack."

If the idea upset her she gave no facial expression of her discomfort. The only hint that the woman was anxious even a bit was the way she wrung her hands. He hadn't known her long, but he could tell this was as emotional as she got.

"It isn't a coincidence that I'm focused on cases that deal with magic." Alice pointed out. "I had recently started university when my dad and stepmum started acting strangely. I wasn't living with them anymore so it took me a bit to notice. Dad stopped phoning me and they both stopped going to work. I didn't hear about it until my little brother's school reached out to me. His grades had started to drop significantly and when his teachers tried to contact my father and his wife they didn't get any response. I was their next line of contact." Alice dropped one hand away from the towel and passed her palm across the table before locking her fingers into George's grasp. He held tightly onto her. "I came home as soon as I could but by then it was too late. The house was a wreck; moldy food everywhere and piles of filthy laundry. My little brother and sister weren't there. It was clear when I got there that Dad wasn't himself anymore. I don't want to get into details but he had let himself go. Badly. It had probably been weeks since he'd bathed. Not only did he not recognize me but he didn't know how to speak really. He'd talk in fragments of words." Her hand that wasn't holding the towel was starting to dig a tight grip into the bones of George's fingers. It hurt but he wasn't about to tell her to loosen her hold.

"What happened to your stepmum?" He asked, assuming that whatever it was must be worse than dementia. Unfortunately he was right about that.

"I've never agreed with labeling people as 'mental' but in this case I don't know how else to describe it. She had practically gone mad. It seemed she had been getting by, at least. She got the kids to school and for the most part fed them but either than that there wasn't much left of her. She had quarantined herself to the bedroom and wouldn't do anything except cry and watch the telly. Unlike Dad her mind was still all there and functioning but it was as if she had given up on everything around her. I think she was scared."

George allowed Alice to squeeze his hand to death a bit longer before gingerly trying to release her fingers with his other hand.

"What made you think they were attacked?" He contemplated.

"We sent them both to the psychiatric hospital right away." Alice admitted. "Dad didn't show any sign of improvement but Jennifer, my stepmum, had a chance. Her and my brother and sister went through weeks of therapy and for the most part are doing much better now. Yet Jenn still has what the doctors believe to be delusions. She believes she was brutally assaulted by a mob of black robed men in silver masks."

It was George's turn to squeeze her hand into a constricted ball of pressure. The acid in his stomach churned and he was glad he hadn't eaten the cup of instant soup in fear of vomiting it up now.

"Silver masks?" He was able to choke out.

Alice nodded. "Does that sound familiar?"

"The Death Eaters wore silver masks and black robes."

It didn't phase her. She simply nodded and picked up his cup of noodles to stir. He supposed if you weren't raised to fear Death Eaters then hearing that they were the culprits of your stepmother's torture and probable rape didn't affect you.

"So that's why you started looking into magic related crimes?"

"Pretty much. It took a while for me to start believing Jennifer's story. She was so sure that she had been abused by men with super powers, and there was no physical evidence that they had been there. It didn't help that her story changed so much from day to day. Sometimes she would say it was two or three attackers and other times upwards of thirty. Her memory was shaky and she couldn't get the details right. She still can't."

Alice stood up and moved to the icebox where she retrieved a couple bottles of condiments and returned to the table. Without asking him she started spooning a red sauce and a bit of mayonnaise into the noodles.

"Um, gross. What are you doing?"

"It's better this way." She licked a dab of the mayo from her thumb before passing the soup. "Try it. If you hate it I can eat this one and make you a fresh one."

He didn't hate it. Actually, it was rather tasty considering he'd expected something far worse.

"Do you have any idea why my father's family was chosen to be attacked?" She dropped the question like a sock full of shite on a white marble floor.

He put the fork he had been holding down and looked at her. "No. A lot of the attacks on the Muggles were probably just random."

She didn't even frown. Instead, Alice pulled the cup of soup out of his hands and stole three bites with her own fork.

"This is really bad, sorry. I'll order some delivery. You want curry?"

He took the soup back from her. "I like it. But if you got curry I wouldn't complain."

It was impressive to see her place an order for food on her flip phone. Muggles might not be able to make noodles instantly but their quick communication abilities were astounding.

"It will be here in forty minutes." She returned the phone to her pocket. "Finish your soup fast, I want to have sex."

George spit out the mouthful of half chewed noodles back into the cup he had scooped them from.

" _What_!?"

"Or you could not eat the rest of it now that you've spit up in it." She said with a shrug. Not even giving him a chance to put the cup down she stood and pushed his chair back from the table so she could pounce on him, straddling his waist with her legs.

Normally he wouldn't have complained but this was a little ridiculous. He had not slept with Alice yet, only some heavy kissing which was back on the evening of their first date.

"Hang on." He wrapped an arm behind her and leaned forward to set the instant noodles on the table. She took that as an opportunity to start kissing his neck. "I'm getting the feeling that you want to use sex to distract yourself from our previous conversation."

"And that's bad?" She whispered. The movement of her lips against his skin as she spoke made George shudder.

"It could be but," he had to pause to breath as Alice's hips started to sway in a steady riding pulse. "Fuck, don't…"

"Don't what? Don't do this?" Slender hands pushed beneath his jumper and removed the cumbersome clothing from his chest. She gripped onto his bare shoulders after depositing the jumper on the floor and began gyrating her hips against him even harder.

"Slow...slow down." If she kept moving like that he wouldn't last another thirty seconds.

"Typically this is better without pants on." She remarked.

It took about two seconds for him to get the rest of his clothes off. Alice joined him in nudity just as quickly and once again pinned him beneath her on the kitchen chair.

"Alice, please." He moaned. He felt her mouth smile against his neck.

"Guess I talked you into it? That was easy."

It ended sooner than he would have liked but they were both too worked up to last long. After a moment to recover their breathing, he decided to kiss her for the first time that night. Her mouth tasted like instant noodles.

He could have kissed like that forever but eventually she dismounted him, releasing him from her warmth.

"You're going to get yourself all hard again." She reached to the floor to retrieve her knickers, shirt, and pants. Alice didn't wear a bra.

"And that's bad?" He said, echoing her previous statement.

She grinned slightly. "Only because the food will be here any minute. You want a beer?"

"Sure."

He clumsily stood and attempted to put his clothes back on with a little grace.

Alice padded to the icebox and had two beers in hand when she came back to him.

"Is your brother still staying with you?" She asked after twisted the caps off the bottles. It was like they had finished having a cup of tea instead of screwing each other silly two seconds ago.

George paused to gather his thoughts. Ron's predicament was something he had brought up briefly a few days ago. He was a bit surprised she had remembered it.

"Yeah. He'll probably be staying for a while. Harry's really mad. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad before. And Ron's done a lot worse things in the past. He must have really hit a nerve."

George had met up with Harry the day after his row with Ron. Harry wasn't able to pinpoint exactly what had set him off. Getting pushed into a fireplace headfirst was definitely part of it, but George guessed there were deeper issues that had been plaguing Ron and Harry's friendship for months.

"Is Ron going to be concerned if you don't come home tonight?" Alice sipped her beer.

"If that's your way of asking me to spend the night it isn't very subtle."

"Subtlety was never one of my strong points."

George laughed loudly from the bottom of his belly. "No, I have to agree with you there."

"So, are you staying?"

She looked so innocent in her pink sleeveless top and baggy cotton pants, her chin in one hand while the other held the beer in her lap. You would never know she'd just fucked his brains out a minute ago.

"Depends, do you want me to?"

"This is me not being subtle. George, I'd like you to stay over."

He knew he had a dumb grin on his face like a child being brought to Honeydukes for the first time. He tried to hide it by drinking the beer but it probably didn't work.

"I'd love to. Ron will have to survive the night without me."

"Good."

When the curry delivery boy eventually showed up Alice and George were tangled together in her bed. Thankfully they still had their clothes on when they answered the door but the Muggle who brought the food wasn't fooled. He took one glance at their mussed up hair and flushed faces and rolled his eyes.

"Honeymoon stage, huh? Enjoy it while it lasts, lovebirds."

Alice didn't tip the man at all.

"Rude bastard!" She yelled and flipped off the closed door where the delivery boy had been. It was the most fire she had shown all night. Even more so than the sex.

George wanted to rip her clothes off again and rutt her into oblivion against the door.

"Before you get any more ideas I want to eat first." She commented. "Then we can finish whatever fantasy you're coming up with right now."

The curry was probably delicious but in the morning he didn't remember much of the dinner part of the night.


End file.
